


When All is Still in Winter

by Bloodsbane



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Casual/Platonic Nudity, Coming of Age, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nature, References to Illness, Sickfic, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-01-12 00:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18435059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Snufkin returns to Moominvalley, but some things have changed. Following an accident which took place while he was away, Moomin has become thoughtful and distant. It isn't until Snufkin is about to leave the following year - and is prevented from doing so by a sudden, persistent illness, meaning he must spend winter with Moomin for the first time - that he learns the full story and comes to understand how best to help his friend.In the meantime, Snufkin realizes his own feelings have begun to change, and must decide whether his fear of losing freedom will prevent him from accepting a place in the hearts of those who care for him most.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here comes my second Moomin fic!
> 
> I can't tell you how excited I am about this one. I outlined the entirety of this fic in a frenzy of Monday, and that alone came up to about 3.6k words. I actually intended for this fic to be three chapters originally, but realized this first chapter had already gotten much too long (I'm still writing it and it's not finished yet, but it's currently at about 11k words). So, I'll be cutting each part into two halves, and that will mean six chapters in all. 
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun writing and I'm super excited to share it with you guys! 
> 
> Some notes before we get started: 
> 
> 1) In this, both 'full names' and 'nicknames' are used for the moomin family. Since his name is being used very often, I'll just be using Moomin for Moomintroll in a majority of the fic. Mamma and Pappa will alternate when I feel it's appropriate (most often their full names will be used when characters want to address them more politely). 
> 
> 2) Snufkin is referred to as a mumrik in this, just as Little My is a mymble and so on. Moomins and Snorks are both referred to as such, and I also call them trolls; as in, both are a sort of troll, but moomins and snorks are slightly different subspecies. 
> 
> 3) As with my other fic, I've mainly been watching the 1990's anime, so that's my main point of reference. Sorry if anything seems inconsistent with the overall canon.
> 
> 4) Snufkin has paws/a tail in this version! Though I've left it somewhat ambiguous with my wording, I'll personally be going off [this image](http://bloodsbane.tumblr.com/post/184100482539/snufkin-as-a-furry-people-refuse-to-draw-his-paws) (sfw) I drew of him for what he looks like with no clothes on (the right one), if you'd like a visual.

**Part 1: To Dance in a Shower of Turning Leaves**

* * *

 

_Chapter 1_

Snufkin can smell it when he draws near. The air here was very fresh, and carried on the wind all sorts of familiar scents from beyond those grey mountains. If he got to a high place and held a paw to his ear, on that wind he would hear the song of the sea. It was still too far to taste, but that would come soon enough. Snufkin grew lost in a daydream of memories; gritty sand dusting the fur of his tail, and salt flavoring his skin. The mumrik smiled and continued on.

There was a song in him, and Snufkin hummed the tune as he trot up along a pale dirt path. It was the first day of spring and he was very pleased to have his song all figured out and wrapped up, ready to deliver to his friends in Moominvalley. This year it was a jovial song, skipping along like little mymbles in a garden. It went along with the beat of Snufkin’s heart, beating harder as he made his way up a gentle incline. Snufkin couldn’t help a bit of a skip himself as he turned finally away from the rocky cliff face and into the most familiar, woody path.

If he cared to, Snufkin could find the exact best spot - perhaps the only one - where he could peer between all the trees and their branches and the leaves and see the first speck of Moomin House. For now he hurried along, fingertips brushing proud tree trunks and greeting them each in turn. The light snuck in through little gaps in the canopy and made curious shapes against the earth.

First came the familiar, brassy hum of his harmonica, and Snufkin’s smile grew. Then there was the sound of the river, steady and calming.

The song being played was a slow one, keeping to smooth, deep tones. It slid up slowly, wary; it skimmed over a high note before retreating, as if the detour had been a mistake. It went on, dragging the song along in a manner almost morose.

Snufkin’s steps slowed, just slightly, as he walked along with that tune. That  _was_  Moomin, wasn’t it? Surely, Snufkin would never mistake the sound of his own harmonica, even if he hadn’t heard it for a season. But to hear such a somber tune being played from his dear friend… Well, it was unexpected, at the very least.

Now curiosity drove him, and Snufkin made his way through the trees, over their crafty roots, past grass and stone and little bugs waking up from beneath the topsoil. Until, finally, he could see it all.

The wide, gentle slopes of the valley; Moomin House standing tall just a short walk away. The clouds were plump and drifted lazily on a breeze too high to hear. Spring-yellow grass whispered their hellos to Snufkin as he made his way toward the bridge. It was the same one he’d set his tent beside for many years now, and seated upon it was his very best friend.

Moomintroll was still playing the harmonica, his notes coming out a little quicker, but his eyes were closed and he was clearly focused, even though Snufkin saw the way his ear twitched in the mumrik’s direction. Beside him was another moomin, and Snufkin quickly recognized Moominmamma from her apron. She had some long wooden thing beside her, and once the matron spotted him, she waved and made to stand up. Her hand found the wooden thing and Snufkin realized it was a cane. The older moomin used it to get her footing, very carefully lifting herself up from beside her son.

Moomin opened his eyes, first glancing up and over to his mother with some vague sense of worry. Then he looked over to Snufkin.

“Hullo, Moomin,” Snufkin greeted, touching the brim of his hat. Moomin didn’t answer, but only continued playing his song. Seems it wasn’t finished yet. Snufkin smirked, giving Moomin a bit of a sly look - playing along with this silent jest. It was then that Moomin’s eyes finally grew bright and twinkled with a familiar joy.

It wasn’t until he saw it - and wasn't he happy, that he always managed to bring that look into his friend’s eyes? - that Snufkin realized it had been absent beforehand. What was on his friend’s mind, to have given him such a look?

“Good morning, Snufkin!” greeted Mamma, and she gave Snufkin a pat on his shoulder. When he politely took his hat off for her, she pressed her snout to his hair briefly before pulling away. “We’re so happy to see you back again. How were your travels?”

“Very well, Moominmamma.”

“Won’t you come in and have breakfast with us? You can tell us all about it.”

Snufkin accepted with little thought. By now, he missed everyone enough not to mind a shared meal or two. While he wasn’t fond of large dinners with lots of chatter between the guests, and truly he preferred to eat alone when he could, the moomins were a quieter sort when left to themselves and Snufkin had never minded meals with them.

Mamma set off, foot-cane-foot-foot-cane, clearly favoring her right side. Snufkin could see that not only was Mamma’s leg clearly bothering her (and to be sure, the knee was wrapped in a bandage), but her hip was taking the weight and rotating in an odd sort of way. Not wanting to be impolite and stare, though, Snufkin let his eyes draw naturally back to Moomin as the troll got to his feet as well. The song was finished and at last he smiled at his friend. “Welcome back, Snufkin!”

“Quite pleased to be back! What was that song you were playing? One of your own?”

Moomin nodded. “I made it up a few days ago.”

“Bit of a dreary tune, don’t you think,” Snufkin mused, not unkindly, as they made their way after Mamma.

Moomin shrugged. His fingers rubbed the shiny metal of the harmonica. “I suppose. Maybe it’s more of a winter song than something for spring.”

“That seems fitting to me. Do you have a name for it?”

For a little while, Moomin was silent. Snufkin let him be. His friend seemed very thoughtful this morning. Usually, when they saw each other after a long winter, Moomin would run up to him on the bridge. He might have taken Snufkin’s hand in his own and said how he was so, so happy to see him again. He might have caught Snufkin before they even hit the bridge, or even just after, and spun the mumrik around, too joyful to stand still. But it was fine, if Moomin wanted to sit with his mom and felt like he had to think before he spoke. Snufkin could understand the need for a moment.

At last, just as Mamma opened the door to the house, Moomin answered with, “I’ve been calling it ‘Silverweed and Snares Hidden in the Mist’.”

Breakfast was a pleasant affair. Mamma set out plates of toast and jam, tiny cake pastries with syrup, and an assortment of fruits to go along with that and their tea. Moominpappa patted Snufkin’s back as he came into the kitchen and gently demanded to hear all about his adventures. All three listened to Snufkin as he gave a general outline of his travels. He knew he would be telling the full stories every now and then, properly, throughout the rest of the year. Whenever they asked questions or talked amongst themselves about what he’d said, that would be Snufkin’s turn to eat.

Eventually, when he could bear the curiosity no longer, Snufkin asked, “Forgive me if it’s impolite, Moominmamma, but I was wondering after your leg. Did something happen?”

“Oh, I’m quite alright,” Mamma replied. She took a sip of her tea, and Snufkin tilted his head at her, thinking she looked the slightest bit strained. “I just had a bit of a fall this winter.”

“A fall?”

“Our dear Mamma tripped on the stairs,” Pappa explained. “She’d gotten up in the night to replace our firewood, and on the way up her foot slipped and she banged her knee something awful.”

“Oh my!” Snufkin looked back to Mamma with surprise. “You are alright now, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” Mamma insisted, now blushing a bit. “There’s no need to worry, dear. Pappa and Moomin took me to the doctor as soon as the snow began to let up a bit. I might have given my hip a good battering when I fell, but the cane has been helping. She said I may even go without it within the year.”

Snufkin nodded, smiling once more. “Well, that’s good then. I’m very sorry for your accident.”

“Please, let’s not dwell on it,” Mamma said lightly, but Snufkin could pick up on an unusual note in her voice. It wasn’t quite an order, but something more firm than a request, he thought. Whatever the case, Pappa followed her lead and went into a tale inspired by something Snufkin had relayed. The mumrik half-listened, his gaze slipping over to Moomin as he nibbled on his jam and toast. The other lad hadn’t said anything that entire time, his face calm but sad. Snufkin imagined it must have been quite the fright, to hear his mom fall down the stairs.

At least she was safe, Snufkin thought, and able to recover.

After breakfast, Moomin came along to watch Snufkin set up his little camp. As Snufkin pitched his tent and prepared a spot for his campfire, Moomin played another tune or two on the harmonica. He didn’t play ‘Silverweed and Snares’ again, but rather a few shorter, happier ditties he’d been working on the year prior. Once Snufkin was properly settled in, Moomin handed the instrument back.

It felt good to have it in his hands again. Even better, to know that Moomin had kept it safe and well-loved while he was gone. The mumrik put his lips to the comb and played.

And so began their spring. They went back and forth, playing songs by the bridge, until Little My and Sniff and Snorkmaiden finally made their way over to Moomin House, and the lot of them set off together.

❋ ❀ ❁ ❋ ❀ ❁

Crocuses and daffodils soon covered the low rolling hills of Moominvalley. Hyacinths grew in proud bushels around Moomin House, where the sun shone bright and long on these fair-weathered days. The scent of flowers was taken up by the cool sea breeze, woven into a fragrant quilt now laid upon all of the valley. More often than not, Snufkin and Moomin would stretch out together in a patch of grass and sunlight, enjoying the beauties of spring.

With the start of spring came the annual party at Moomin House. It was a homely celebration, to welcome the coming of spring and rekindle loves and friendships. Gifts were often prepared and traded to family members and friends. It would occur in just under a month, giving everyone plenty of time to think of presents to buy or craft.

Snufkin had gathered small knick-knacks on his journey to give out for just such an occasion. Though he didn’t often stay at the party for long, it was nice to go and see everyone he hadn’t managed to run into since his return. There would be music playing, singing, and dancing, as well as a lovely feast set out for everyone to share, along with the gift-giving. Even if Snufkin wasn’t fond of parties, he did enjoy a nice get-together every now and then, and the spring gathering was one of his favorites.

Moomin was working on flower crowns and considering what he might give out. Most likely, he would go in search of pretty stones and shells. He always gave Snorkmaiden a shell, at least, along with a nicely made floral wreath to wear at the party. This year, Snufkin had managed to find a lovely bit of fabric she could use as a bow or neckerchief.

“What do you think Mamma would want?” Moomin muttered, long fingers twisting the stems of a buttercup and allium together. The yellow flowers played against each other nicely, one being small and round, the other having long petals with sharp tips.

Snufkin had foregon his pipe this afternoon, unwilling to sully the air with something so harsh. Instead he chewed on a piece of long grass. Twirling it between his teeth, he replied, “She always loves those little shell bracelets you make her.”

“Well yes, of course,” Moomin said. He let out a little sigh. He’d been doing that a lot lately - huffing out gusts of air, like it was being pushed out of him by an invisible hand. Snufkin tilted his head to look at the troll. His friend was lying on his stomach, snout sticking out of the lush grasses like a round, snow-covered mountain. Even as he mused, his fingers played along with the flowers, weaving them together. “I get her that sort of thing every year, don’t I? And this year I would like to do something… That is to say, I want to give her something that is… Oh, Snufkin, what is that word? When something is useful, or often needed?”

Snufkin considered. “Do you mean… practical?”

“Yes! I want to give Mamma something practical this time. Something that she can use, instead of just wear and keep in her handbag.”

For a while they threw ideas back and forth, but nothing seemed to strike Moomin as good enough. He’d finished his first crown and was moving onto the next, this time hunting around the clearing they were lounging in for small, blue flowers growing in the shade. Every now and then he’d veer away from those and snatch up primrose. The white petals were broad and bold amidst the tiny blue ones.

Snufkin closed his eyes. He listened to the wind as a sudden swell played about in the canopy, batting the leaves and swinging on the tree branches. At the sound of their groaning, he was struck with an idea. “Moomin, why don’t we make your mother a new cane?”

Though he couldn’t see Moomin, he heard the familiar, firm  _pap_  of his friend’s tail smacking the ground. “But Mamma isn’t going to need that cane forever,” he replied, sounding sullen.

Snufkin only smiled. “Wouldn’t it be nice, though, for her to have one of her own? I assume that one she’s been using was leant to her by the doctor; it’s very plain.”

“It is.”

“We could carve a new one just for her.”

“You mean _you_  would carve it.”

“You can do woodwork just as well as I can,” Snufkin argued. He’d seen more than enough to know moomins and snorks were gifted when it came to building - they could be very fast at constructing things if you lit the fire under their tails a bit. “If you wanted me to do the carving, though, you could still help in other ways. We could say it’s a gift from both of us.”

Moomin didn’t reply, and so Snufkin knew he wasn’t against the idea. He waited for the other lad to make up his mind.

“...I suppose I could help find a good branch at least,” he murmured. He’d resumed picking his flowers, slowly making his way back toward where Snufkin lay on his back. “And perhaps I could paint it once you’ve finished. Oh, wouldn’t it be so pretty if we carved and painted some flowers onto the cane?”

“That would be a lot of work, but very lovely, I agree.”

“Would you do it, Snufkin?”

“Of course. We have plenty of time before the party. Perhaps we shall get Too-Ticky to lend us some of her tools. I’ve also never made a cane before; for something that large, I’m sure it’s quite a process.”

“Yes! That’s a fine idea Snufkin! I wouldn’t mind if the present was from all three of us, either. If Too-Ticky helps, it’ll definitely come out very nice!”

“Shall we go off and ask her about it now?”

Moomin hummed, and he sounded very close. Snufkin finally opened one eye to see that his friend had finished his new wreath. He was standing close by, tail swaying just above the grass. Snufkin sat up and put his hat back on his head. “Yes?”

“This one’s for you,” Moomin told him. He stepped in close and dropped the wreath over Snufkin’s hat, so it sat on the wide brim. Snufkin chuckled and removed his hat to inspect it properly, feeling the soft primrose petals.

“What are these blue ones?”

“Those are false forget-me-nots.”

“False?”

“Real ones usually bloom in the fall,” Moomin explains. “These are spring flowers.”

“I see. Thank you, Moomin.”

The troll merely nods, wringing his fingers. Snufkin put his hat back on. He’d missed Moomin’s flower-wreaths.

The next few days kept them busy making Moominmamma’s new cane. Too-Ticky was all too willing to help. She sent them off to cut down a small hickory tree, then used tools in her workshop to cut out a several sections, then cut those into long, straight pieces. They were nearly bone-white, and about half Moominmamma’s height. The rest of the tree was set aside for use in carpentry or firewood, while the remaining six sticks were given back to the boys.

“Try your luck at carving these into a better shape,” Too-Ticky said. “The extras are in case you make any big mistakes and have to start over. I’ll help you carve and attach the handle and rubber base once the main stick is finished. Moomin, do you know if your mom likes the handle on that cane she’s using now?”

“She sometimes complains it’s a bit hard to keep her grip on it,” Moomin answered. “It’s too curved and smooth.”

“I’ll make a different sort, then. I think a fritz handle will suit your mother just fine.”

“Thank you, Too-Ticky!”

“It’s a nice idea to give her something like this,” Too-Ticky said, smiling. “Moominmamma will love it, and get a great deal of use out of it.”

“It was Snufkin’s idea!” Moomin chirped. The mumrik merely adjusted his hold on the sticks and smiled at him.

“Would you two like to stay for tea? Mymble went out, but she’ll be back soon, and we planned on going out for a little picnic. I’m sure she’ll have a treat or two to share.”

“No thank you,” Moomin said. “We don’t want to interrupt your day any further! Thank you so much again; we really wanna start on this, so maybe in a couple days we’ll be back with the finished cane!”

They departed, and the days after that were focused on carving the wood. They divided their share of sticks evenly, so each had three attempts to carve something useable. It was a little difficult to smooth out the shape of the wood without taking out too big a chunk, or accidentally cutting through and ruining it altogether. Moomin burned through his first two attempts rather quickly and had to take great pains on his last one. Snufkin made a few errors on his first and deemed it useless; the second was better, but something about the wood struck him as ill-suited for Moominmamma. It was too light or something, he thought, and the grain felt bad in his hands.

At last, they both had a mostly-smooth stick. They would be smoothed down further with sandpaper, once Too-Ticky approved of them.

She ended up deciding Snufkin’s was most suitable, which Moomin accepted in good grace. When Too-Ticky added she could make an extra cane with Moomin’s - one left over for emergencies, in case the first one was lost or broken - he felt even better about it. They wouldn’t have time to engrave or paint anything nice on it, but an extra wouldn’t hurt.

Too-Ticky sanded it down until the grain was smooth, then drilled a hole into a crescent-shaped curve she made on one end and attached the handle. It was then returned to the boys.

“Be very careful when you make your carvings,” Too-Ticky explained. “I’ll give you tools that will be better than the knives you used. In fact, I’d rather you stay in my shop to do this next part.”

Before Snufkin got to the engraving, Moomin drew up a picture of what he thought would look nice on the cane. Once they all agreed on the design, he re-drew the lines very lightly on the wood with a charcoal pencil. For three days, Snufkin took great pains to follow along with Moomin’s design. He’d spent some time between carving out the cane to practice, and he felt his hand stay steady as he worked. It was still quite difficult work, though.

Eventually, it was finished. Too-Ticky sanded it again. She oiled the cane, then left it in a shallow tub of special oil to stay overnight. The next day, there was a process of re-sanding and dipping, before at last she painted it a deep brown and left it to dry.

“Come pick it up tomorrow,” she said, “and you can paint the rest of it. Once that’s dry too, I’ll put a special oil on it to make it glossy, and add the stopper at the bottom so it can’t slip on the ground.”

The next day found them in a field, seated near a large stone. At the lee of the stone was a patch of dry earth, and here the two laid out a few towels and jars of paint. Snufkin left most of the painting to Moomin, only helping now and then to mix colors for his friend or clean brushes.

“And what is it the two of you are doing?” called a voice. They both looked up. Little My stood at the top of the rock, smirking down at them with her little arms crossed. “Well, what is it?”

“We’re making a cane, Little My,” Snufkin answered calmly. Moomin only huffed and continued to paint. “It’s for Moominmamma, to replace the one she’s using right now.”

“Huh! Is that what the two of you have been sneaking off to do these last two weeks?”

“We have not been sneaking,” Moomin grumbled. His tail was flicking against the towels like an irritated feline’s. “Little My, do you want something? We’re trying to finish this.”

“Let me help!” She hopped down from her perch, landing in the grass.

“No,” Moomin said right away, quite firmly. “Only Snufkin and I are doing this, as a gift for the spring celebration. Make your own gift.”

“What! You’re saying you don’t want my help?”

“We can do it on our own!”

“I don’t think so,” Little My retorted. “There’s no way the two of you did all that by yourselves. Too-Ticky helped out, didn’t she? Huh? Don’t lie, Moomin.”

“She did help,” Snufkin said, and patted Moomin’s shoulder. He’d gone back to pointedly ignoring Little My, carefully putting white paint into the bell-like shapes Snufkin had carved along one drooping stem. “You know, it may help a bit if you could go off and find some flowers for us, My. I know Moomin has to paint a bunch on one side, and it would be easier if he could look at them.”

Moomin hummed, clearly still a bit annoyed, but turned around and glanced at Little My. “I suppose that would be helpful,” he admitted. “It would look nicer than if I just did them from memory.”

“Okay!” Little My walked around their towels for a moment, inspecting everything, hands behind her back. “Y’know, since this is such a nice gift, and for Mamma too, I won’t even say you have to tell her I helped and that the gift is from me, too! It can just be you two. Even if I did help out. I’ll go find you a bunch of flowers, Moomin; you can count on me! Maybe if I find Snorkmaiden, she can help. She knows way more about boring old flowers than-”

“N-no!” Moomin said. Little My grew silent. “I mean… No, you don’t need to ask her. Any flowers will do. Just get a bunch, of different kinds, and come right back.”

Little My got a look on her face, and Snufkin thought she might complain, maybe accuse Moomin of hiding things again. He was surprised when she merely shrugged before scampering off, disappearing into the grass. He looked at Moomin.

“Is there some reason you didn’t want her to bring Snorkmaiden?” he asked. He couldn’t really recall a time when Moomin didn’t want to see the snork. Moomin shook his head, pretending to be too focused on mixing his greens to think of a proper answer.

❋ ❀ ❁ ❋ ❀ ❁

The day of the spring celebration, Snufkin went off early in the morning to wash out his clothes and bathe. There was a very secluded little spring he often used for such purposes, hidden just outside the borders of the Lonely Mountain. From that direction came a thin trickle of water which fed into the larger river running through Moominvalley. As Snufkin followed the rocky path, the water flow grew wider and more deep, until it disappeared amidst a tall wall of rocks and grasses. There was a tiny opening where the water was escaping from, and Snufkin knew now the way to get to that secret area, which he had discovered a few years ago.

There was a very thick grove of thin trees nearby, hugging the side of a cliff. Hidden amongst the foliage at their feet was another crack in the wall, this one just big enough for something Snufkin-sized to slip in. He did so, stepping into a large cavern. Light snuck down from an open section of rock high above, letting the late-morning sunlight drift down. Just enough was able to filter in, dusting the spring with a warm shimmer.

It was a lovely place, with deep, cold water that woke Snufkin up. It was clean enough for him to wash and deep enough for him to swim, with a bank made of large, smooth rocks.

First, Snufkin took a tin bucket he’d borrowed from the moomins and filled it most of the way with water from the spring. Since it was better to use hot water to scrub out dirt and stains, he then made a small fire pit with rocks and placed his bucket in the center. The mumrik grabbed sticks, grass, and other things to use as tinder. He wouldn’t need the fire to last, it just had to be enough to heat up the water.

Having brought along matches for his pipe, Snufkin easily started the fire. He continued to feed it tinder until the water gradually began to heat up. As soon as he could spy steam wafting from its surface, he let the fire die, tossing handfuls of water from the spring to help douse it.

Snufkin untied his boots and wiggled his toes amidst the smaller pebbles, flinching only slightly at how icy the water felt. After taking off his coat, trousers, and underthings, he pulled a vial of special soap - given to him by Moominmamma - and poured its sweet-smelling contents into the bucket. He didn’t often use the soap unless he needed a real clean. Then the mumrik put his clothes into the hot water and used a long stick to stir it up with the soap. Once that was finished, he left it all to soak. Snufkin set his hat on a nearby bolder and finally turned to the spring, slowly dipping into the water, acclimating himself to its chill.

Though he wasn’t like a moomin, Snufkin always enjoyed the chance for a good swim, and loved to dive down deep and hold his breath before shooting back up to the top. Sometimes he would feel around at the bottom of the spring, for interesting rocks or perhaps a stubborn aquatic grass growing in dark crevices.

Beneath the water, in the weighty silence, Snufkin kicked his feet and tail as he swam in circles until his lungs burned. He pressed a paw against the rocks and pushed himself quickly up, gasping as he broke the surface.

“Wahh!!”

Snufkin splashed in surprise at the loud echo of an unexpected voice, coughing as he inhaled a bit of water and choked. He pushed himself hastily to the opposite bank of the spring, claws digging into the rocks, his tail lashing about as he wiped water from his eyes so he could see who it was.

“Oh! Snufkin, it’s just you! O-oh, gosh- I’m real sorry!”

“Moomin?” Snufkin blinked at his friend. The troll was standing just beside the entrance, hands self-consciously holding his snout. He was turned slightly away, and his cheeks were red. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I just… came here,” Moomin said, sounding all at once confused, embarrassed, and- well, perhaps amused. He must be happy to see Snufkin, even if it was unexpected. Snufkin would have felt similarly, if not for how odd this meeting was. How did his friend find this place? It wasn’t possible that Moomin followed him here, was it…?

“I’ve been coming here sometimes,” Moomin explained, glancing over again. Snufkin turned fully to look at him, still seated half in the water along the bank. It wasn’t immodist for Moomin to see him without his clothes, but surely unexpected, so he wasn’t too put off by the other’s reluctance to look directly at him. Of course, Snufkin didn’t care one way or the other, he wasn’t self-conscious. Why should he, when many of his friends didn’t wear as much clothes as he? But he supposed it might be different depending on if you were a mumrik or a mymble or the like. Had Moomin ever seen him without his coat and things? Was it odd to see how much of his body was smooth, pale skin, and how much was scruffy fur? Moomin was used to his hands, clawed as they were and covered in course brown fur. Snufkin didn’t often remove his shoes, though, and his feet were closer to that of a mongoose than a moomin. Did he seem so strange?

Moomin continued on, stepping in a bit more, distracting himself from looking at Snufkin by going over to the bucket with his friend’s clothes. “Are you doing your laundry?”

“Yes. I usually do that here, as well as bathe.”

“I see! It’s a nice spot for it, huh? You’ve been doing this for a long while haven’t you?”

“I have.”

“I can’t believe we never ran into each other before!” Moomin says, genuinely surprised. Snufkin feels something in him relax, and he lets himself smile. As he slides back into the water, Moomin went on to say, “I like to come here because the sound is good.”

“What do you mean?”

“The echo! Have you not played your harmonica in here, or maybe sung?”

“I haven’t.”

“Well it sounds very nice. The echo sings along with you, and it throws your voice around so it sounds louder than it is. Watch!”

Then Moomin began to sing:

_My maiden, so fair, she asked for a basket_

_To carry her merry red apples around_

_They grew in the garden,_

_They fell from the tree,_

_She wanted to catch them before they hit ground._

His ditty flew about the cave like a bird, all around and up and up until it dove right out of the sunny opening above them.

Snufkin hummed, very pleased. “You’re right! That does sound lovely.”

“Do you want any help with your clothes Snufkin?”

“You don’t have to do that. Why don’t you come and swim while I handle them? Then we can swim together.”

Moomin gave him a bright smile, and for the rest of the morning they stayed in that cave, Snufkin scrubbing his clothes clean against the rocks and soaking them, Moomin diving deep into the water and fishing out brilliantly shaped rocks, pure black and glittering in the light. They sang little verses back and forth to one another, sometimes making up silly songs so that their laughter would bounce around, dancing, until it flew up and away and out into the spring day.

❋ ❀ ❁ ❋ ❀ ❁

The annual spring celebration almost always started with a dance. It was purposefully simple, without tricky footwork that might exclude anyone. It involved a lot of gentle hand touches with other dancers and spinning, and little flicks of the wrist to pantomime the picking of flowers. At the end all would curtsy or bow, head or hand tilted up toward evening sky.

Then came the chatting and sharing of gifts. Moomin and Snufkin had stashed away the finished cane a few days ago up in the troll’s room. Snufkin ran off to get it while Moomin encouraged his mother to sit down. She’d been a bit shaky during the dance, but insistent on participating, and now she leaned on her borrowed cane and fought to catch her breath.

The cane wasn’t wrapped, though a lovely bit of red string had been tied about the handle and flowers woven in with the knot. Moominmamma gasped when Snufkin brought it out, and many of the other guests gathered around to inspect it. Snufkin handed it off and stood close behind Moomin, somewhat out of the circle of friends.

“It’s absolutely lovely!” Mamma said, her eyes sparkling as she ran a gentle paw down the length of the wood. Too-Ticky had done a marvelous job finishing it up. The seams between handle and stick were almost impossible to distinguish, and the whole thing had a bright sheen, making it look clean and sturdy. Snufkin’s carving work actually looked much nicer now, bold and distinguished thanks to Moomin’s colors. A watercolor-work of flowers blossomed on one side of the cane, their figures soft as a dream, while snaking up the entire length was a vine of little white flowers. The lilies of the valley were Snufkin’s favorite touch, their bell-like blooms bright as little stars against the dark brown wood and the near formless smear of color coming from the other flowers. The stem was a bright spring green, coiling up the cane like a snake. The handle of the cane was left mostly blank, but it looked nice, helping to curb the decoration so it didn’t come off as very gaudy.

“Thank you boys so very much,” Mamma said with true emotion. “You did all this on your own?”

“Too-Ticky helped!” both lads said in unison. Then, almost reluctantly, Moomin added, “And Little My. But only a little!”

“I did!” Little My agreed, smiling. She hopped on Mamma’s lap so she could get a better look at the engravings. “I suppose they did do an alright job with it in the end, Mamma. You should’ve seen it before though, it was so boring. Good thing I got all those flowers so Moomin could pretty it up for you.”

Mamma smiled and pat Little My’s back. “Yes, yes, thank you as well. Thank you everyone who helped. Now I can return this old one to the doctor. Here, let me try it out.”

Everyone scooted back so Mamma could stand and get a good grip on the cane. Moomin was staring, tail-tuft twitching in the grass, and Snufkin placed a paw on his friend’s elbow to help calm him. The troll had been paranoid about the height of the thing, worried it would be too short or tall to be of use to Mamma - irrational, given they had measured the borrowed cane and knew it was the proper height. Seeing his mother walk about in the yard with hardly a problem and a big smile on her face finally soothed Moomin’s fears, and he at last grinned, relieved.

The party continued on. Everyone ate treats and continued to exchange gifts. Snufkin gave out pretty fabrics and toys; Moomin distributed flower crowns, unique stones, and colorful shells he’d been hunting for all year. Snufkin received a comb from Little My and made sure to lay it on thick that yes, it was a lovely gift, and he would be sure to put it to good use, and pretended not to see her snickering. Sniff offered Snufkin grass for his pipe and got a polished foreign coin in return; Snorkmaiden gave him tea leaves. She was quiet when they exchanged gifts, looking genuinely pleased with the fabric he’d given but reluctant to stick around and keep speaking. In fact, Snufkin thought, she was being a little distant with everyone except Little My this year. He hadn’t even seen her talk to or dance with Moomin, despite accepting the wreath he’d made her.

Gifts given, Snufkin felt the weight of obligation finally lift from him, and he began to drift to the edges of the party. He wasn’t much in the mood to dance more, and merely watched from a chair as the other guests did. Little My had bullied Moomin into a round, and the tiny mymble stood on her friend’s feet, laughing along with the troll as Moomin tried to guide them both through the steps without losing his footing or dropping the girl. Snufkin picked at his teeth with one claw and wished he’d brought along his pipe or harmonica.

“Heading off soon, are ya Snufkin?” Snufkin turned to see Too-Ticky standing close by, pulling crackers off the snack table. She offered him a kind smile, waiting to see if he’d answer, before nibbling on her food.

“I think so,” Snufkin said. He sighed, feeling mostly pleased, and he was always glad to speak to Too-Ticky even if only for a moment. “Thank you again for helping us with Moominmamma’s cane.”

“No problem at all. I’m glad to help, as always.” The older woman glanced away then, and chuckled. “Oh dear. Would you look at that.”

Snufkin turned his eyes back to the open block of grass reserved for dancing. Amidst the crowd, Mymble had claimed the hands of The Police Inspector. She was leading him through what appeared to be a complicated dance with perhaps too much twirling. The Inspector was blushing, and Snufkin wasn’t sure if the man was merely flustered by Mymble or fearing he might be sick. Snufkin laughed with Too-Ticky.

After a beat and a thought, Snufkin asked, “Does it not bother you?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Mymble. No, not at all. She’s not too much younger than me you know, but just enough. She’s a very youthful, social thing you know, and likes the attention.”

“Do you ever feel as if it’s hard to keep up with someone like her?”

Too-Ticky laughed again. “Sometimes! I’m not quite as spry as I used to be. Working hard will do that to you after too long. I prefer sticking to home. And I can fix and build whatever you want but don’t ask me to dance like that, I’ll surely hurt somebody!”

“It must be nice then; to have an understanding, I suppose?”

“You could call it that.” Too-Ticky chewed on a piece of fruit and they were quiet again, merely watching their friends. Moomin had escaped Little My’s clutches and was by his mother. She had persuaded her son to dance with her, though the steps were very easy. Snufkin could see from the way Moomin held his mother that he was trying to support most of her weight, leading things along so she wouldn’t have to rely on her right side so much.

“I think it can be easy for two hearts to come to an agreement,” Too-Ticky said suddenly, her voice light and easy with wisdom. “But only if you really want to have a conversation with the people you care about. The doing might be the hard part, and of course loving someone isn’t always easy, and sometimes people grow in strange ways so that they don’t fit together anymore. That’s all just a part of growing up though, and the world growing up around you. Anyone can change. It’s good to keep that in mind.”

Not long after, Snufkin quietly departed the gathering. He took the long way to his tent, disappearing into the trees nearby so no one would spot him going down the path. Once he’d gotten back to camp, he sat on the side facing away from Moomin House and smoked his pipe for a while, considering the sky, now dark and full of stars.

For hours, Snufkin merely lay there, smoking, thinking on not much at all, enjoying spring and the warmth from his pipe. At last, when in the distance he heard the party wind down and all were shouting their goodbyes, Snufkin crawled into his tent.

As the mumrik shed his clothes and pulled on his thin blanket, the mused over the melancholy feeling in his chest. He’d had fun at the party. He was pleased Mamma had enjoyed her gift, and that Moomin had been smiling so much tonight, and that he’d had a nice chat with Too-Ticky. Even the small handful of presents he’d received were nice. So what was this feeling, like something was forgotten or missing, and he was sad for its loss?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so first off, thank you all SO MUCH for all the lovely comments! I'm so surprised at how much of a response this fic has gotten already. I'm really glad you're all enjoying it~ And reading your messages has made me very happy ;w; I'm awful about replying but trust me, I see them and I love them so much! 
> 
> I don't think I have any notes for this chapter, other than I had to cut it in half AGAIN; this ended up being 11k on its own, which is what I was trying to avoid in the first place, haha. I've decided not to sweat how many chapters this is all gonna be ultimately, because apparently I have no idea how long this is going to get. So far all I know is that Part 1 is now officially 3 chapters long, with this being the second. 
> 
> So, this one's a bit brief, but the next one will be a little lengthier to make up.

**Part 1: To Dance in a Shower of Turning Leaves**

* * *

 

  _Chapter 2_

In Moominvalley, summer could sneak up so gently, one could easily miss its appearance. Only as some of the less resilient flowers began to wilt and the water grew warmer along each riverbank did it seem obvious. The days grew longer, the sun seemed somehow hotter, and all manner of insect flew about.

These were often the busiest days for Snufkin and his friends. They and the moomin family might take the boat out for an oceanic adventure. Once or twice, they had visited that deserted island - the one they had first discovered upon fixing up the ship. Sometimes they’d merely go out to sea for a few days, enjoying the wind and fishing and swimming to their heart's content. Summer was also a time for long hikes across the valley and for visiting the beach.

Lately, things had been very quiet. Almost too quiet, Snufkin thought, except he wasn’t the sort to complain. Moomin seemed preoccupied, spending a lot of time at home. Yes, almost every day he would still come to Snufkin and enjoy the early afternoon with his friend. Now and then they would go on walks together, or fish, or play music and make up songs. But Moomin did not often propose a more eventful trip, nor would he seek out Snorkmaiden or Sniff so they could tag along on an adventure. More often, at some point, Moomin would begin to glance back at the house with increasing frequency, until at last he quietly excused himself and promised to see Snufkin again the next day.

Of course, this was all fine. Moomin had been a little odd all through spring, but Snufkin couldn’t begrudge his friend for wanting to spend a little time with family. It was probably just due to his mother’s injury. Maybe she needed more help doing chores around the house, and Moomin didn’t want to seem lazy and leave her to do things all on her own. In any case, Snufkin left it up to Moomin how much time they spent together, and took advantage of the days he was left on his own to do just that - be on his own.

Today the mumrik was intent on fishing in a new spot, and so he’d gathered up a rod and some bait and was walking across the valley to a large lake to try his luck there. On the way, just barely spotting her through a patch of trees, Snufkin stumbled upon Snorkmaiden.

She was seated in a little grove of marigolds, her lower half near consumed by the flowers and their dark leaves. Sitting among them brought out the golden sheen of her fur, and her blonde bangs were bright as their wrinkled petals. The snork was fingering a bloom she’d just plucked from the batch, and Snufkin watched as she picked up a book that was at her side, hidden amongst the flora. There were other flowers sticking up from between the pages like bookmarks; Snorkmaiden added her marigold to her collection.

Snufkin hesitated for only a moment, then made his way over, careful not to step on any flowers with his boots. He hadn’t spoken to Snorkmaiden much lately. The very few times he and Moomin did seek out company, it was often Sniff they found, or perhaps Little My - though usually, she was the one who found them. Snufkin had been wondering why, and this was as good a chance as any to ask about it. “Hullo, Snorkmaiden.”

The snork started, blinking up at him in surprise. “Oh! Snufkin? What are you doing over here…?” She looked worried. Snufkin saw her glance over his shoulder, twirling a flower stem between her fingers.

“I was just about to go fishing in the lake down this way,” Snufkin answered, pointing. He added, offering a smile, “If you’re worried that Moomin is somewhere behind me, don’t worry, I’m on my own today. He’s back at the house with his parents.”

“Oh.” Snufkin couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed. Both, perhaps? She had an odd air about her, some unfamiliar thoughtfulness that seemed almost tangible, weighing her down. Even her amongst her beloved flowers, with the sunlight peeking in through the trees to keep them warm, the girl seemed very lonesome.

“Sorry,” Snufkin said, unsure. “Have I’ve disturbed you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Snorkmaiden said quietly. Her tail curled up around her, and she unconsciously caught onto the tuft and began to twirl it. It was a habit she shared with Moomin; Snufkin found it helplessly endearing. “It doesn’t matter if he’s with you or not.” Another pause, and then she said again, very sadly, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Snorkmaiden?”

She glanced away, and Snufkin was very worried she might cry. He was never the best with those who cried. He could perhaps sympathize with their reasons, but when it came to comforting, he was not very good. Mostly he could only think to say what he hoped would get them to stop as quickly as possible.

“I’m surprised he’s not with you,” Snorkmaiden said, and she still wasn't looking at him. “Hasn’t he been with you all summer?”

“Well…” Snufkin scratched his hair under his hat, feeling confused. He’d stumbled into a strange conversation, when he’d only wanted to ask a simple question. “Not very much, really. I mean of course we’ve been spending time together, but in all honesty Moomin has been spending quite a bit of time at home this year. I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“Why would _I_  know?” Snorkmaiden snapped, and Snufkin really was surprised then, blinking at her. She huffed, but looked a little ashamed of her outburst. There were tears in her eyes now.

“I just…” Oh, dear, Snufkin wished he could just leave. This had been a mistake. He was stuck here, the little flowers like mines under his boots, and one wrong step meant a bright, aromatic explosion right in his face. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, well, Moomin usually tells you everything, doesn’t he? You two are together, so why wouldn’t you know what he was up to?”

Snorkmaiden blinked in surprise, a tear rolling down one soft cheek. “What?”

“I just thought-”

“You think… Oh. He didn’t tell you?”

Snufkin frowned and his grip tightened on his fishing rod. “Tell me what?”

Snorkmaiden looked truly apologetic now. “I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely. She sniffled and twirled her tail-tuft again. “I thought you knew, and were just being mean.”

“Why ever would I be rude to you, Snorkmaiden? Won’t you tell me what’s wrong - I fear I’m really quite confused now.”

“Moomin broke up with me.”

Snufkin’s tail slapped the ground in shock. “He did?”

“Yes. It was just after the spring celebration.” After a moment of silence, she added, quietly, “We’d gotten into a fight before that. Um. I think it was while you two were working on his mother’s cane. And I thought, well, I hate to not see Moomin but I don’t think he wanted to see me, so I left him alone, and I’d hoped at the party we would talk or dance or something, but he barely even…” Snorkmaiden wiped her eyes. “And then… and then, at the end, he said he wanted to talk the next day. So we did, and he…”

Snufkin was at a loss. All he could think to do was put down his things and tip-toed his way through the flowers to sit beside Snorkmaiden. He didn’t sit too close, and didn’t offer her a hand or a hug or even kind words, but he was doing as much as he could while so many thoughts were buzzing around and distracting him.

Moomin had broken up with Snorkmaiden? Really?

Why hadn’t he told Snufkin about it?

Why had he done it in the first place?

“Do you know why?” Snufkin asked.

“I don’t!” Snorkmaiden cried, her voice very shaky. Then she took some deep breaths and sighed in a great big gust, like air bursting out of a popped balloon. She seemed to deflate like one, too. “Oh, maybe I do. It’s quite a lot to think about and I’ve been trying not to, honestly.”

“What do you mean?”

Snorkmaiden glanced over at Snufkin. Then, after a moment of consideration, she asked, “Do you know what a… an ‘attack’ is?”

“‘Attack’?”

“Yes. Mamma said that’s what happened to Moomin. He came to me, you see, during the winter. He walked all the way to my house in the snow, and I had to let him in through the window. He was exhausted and so cold, Snufkin, and he said he hadn’t been able to sleep for almost a week, and when I asked why he told me about what happened to Moominmamma. And oh, oh Snufkin, it was awful; he started to choke on his breath and it got all funny, like he couldn’t get enough air, and he kept saying that he was so sorry about it and he started to curl up. I got really scared.”

Snufkin’s heart beat hard in his chest. He tried to stay calm and focused, thinking on her original question now that she’d explained. “I… I think I’ve seen some things like this before, yeah. I’ve met some people who are very shy, and sometimes they get so nervous they can't breathe right. Usually it’s very quiet children… Kids like Ninny, you know? Maybe they’ve had a rough time of it with their families. Once or twice I’ve met an older person who hated the sound people yelling, and they’d have to get up and go to another room if it got too loud, or they’d start to shake.”

“Moomin was shaking,” Snorkmaiden said, nodding sadly. “He was shaking and gasping and I didn’t know what to do. He couldn't even finish telling me the story until he calmed down. I sat with him and tried to hug him but I don’t know if it helped. It was so awful, Snufkin.

“Anyway… I think that’s at least partly why he decided… that he didn’t want to be with me anymore.” Snorkmaiden admitted this with another sigh, but she doesn’t seem so sad this time. “And… It’s just frustrating! Because, well, I’m very sad about it and I was upset at the time, and maybe I was too upset and made him feel bad for doing it, but it was a surprise, you know? I never thought Moomin and I wouldn’t be a couple. We’ve liked each other for a very long time.”

“You have,” Snufkin agreed.

“But I think maybe something happened when his mom fell down the stairs,” Snorkmaiden continued. “I think maybe it hurt his heart to see his mother like that. He was very worried and sorry that she’d gotten hurt. I can understand… I worry about Snork too, with all his experiments and projects, and all the building he does. He puts himself into danger all the time to test things and I always get worried he’ll hurt himself.”

Snufkin nodded, pulling up his knees to rest his arms and head against them. Snorkmaiden seemed to be feeling better as she spoke, so he offered not words but attention, and let her go on with explaining.

“And if I’m being honest, too, maybe… Well, the last few years have been a bit… I don’t know. It’s strange to talk to you about it Snufkin, because you’re not a girl, and I’m sure you’ve never really thought about getting married or something like that, have you?” She smiled as the mumrik shook his head. “I didn’t think so… For so long I expected Moomin and I would be married. I thought about it for so long that I got used to it just being something that would happen, someday, and I was so sure of it I never thought about it anymore. And then, isn’t it funny? At some point… maybe that idea got a bit strange to me. Moomin and I haven’t changed very much since we were younger - our relationship, I mean. I don’t really know about myself… but I think Moomin has changed a lot.” Snorkmaiden looked up at the leaves, rustled by a wind too high for them to feel. “I think he changed even more this winter. Maybe too much.”

“Too-Ticky said something to me,” Snufkin replied, “at the spring party. She said that we’re always changing, and sometimes we fit together and sometimes we don’t. And she said we can always learn to agree on something but only if we want to.”

Snorkmaiden nodded. “I suppose Moomin just… didn’t want to fit anymore.” She sighed again, lightly, like a final breath before one accepted that they had truly been sunk. “Not with me anyway.”

Snufkin looked at her, tail twitching. She looked back, considering. “I think Moomin likes someone else,” she admitted, staring at his face.

“Oh, really?” Snufkin looked up and away, at the sky, trying to remember if he’d seen or heard Moomin show interest in someone who wasn’t Snorkmaiden recently. “Are you sure?”

“At least a little sure.”

“You think he likes someone else, and that’s part of the reason he didn’t want to be with you anymore?”

“Yes.”

“Who do you suppose it is?”

Snorkmaiden got a funny look on her face. She appeared almost pained, but like she wanted to laugh at the same time. She huffed and glanced away, pulling up her knees. Her little flower book was pressed between her legs and her stomach. “I don’t think I should say,” she eventually replied. “I already told you about his attack and I don’t know if maybe he didn’t want you to know, and I don’t think it’s fair, really, for me to say who I think he likes if he doesn’t want to say. And maybe I’m wrong anyway.”

Snufkin thought that was fair, and so he looked down at the flowers instead, thinking. He ran a dull claw between their petals. “Do you suppose he’ll want to confess to them, then?”

“I don’t think so.”

“No?”

Snorkmaiden stared at him again. Snufkin wondered what about him must be so interesting. Was he asking strange questions? It only made sense, he thought. If Moomin went through the trouble of breaking up with Snorkmaiden now, wouldn’t that mean he was interested in pursuing this other girl?

“I think,” Snorkmaiden said, “Moomin doesn’t know he really likes this person. Or maybe he does but he doesn’t realize how much exactly. Or maybe he knows how much, and he isn’t sure how they feel. Anyway, the real reason I don’t think he’ll say anything is because he’s worried he’ll hurt this other person if he does.”

“Why would knowing that he likes them hurt them?”

Snorkmaiden shook her head. “Listen, I… I don’t really want to think about it. I’m not mad at Moomin anymore, not really… I’m tired of being mad. I wish I could just talk to him, but I feel like he doesn’t want me around anymore…”

Snufkin said, feeling very sure of himself, “Moomin would love if you’d come along with us again. I’m sure of it.”

“You really think so? I thought he might be avoiding me.”

“I know he’d like it. He still cares about you very much, you know. Hasn’t he always? He would never want to abandon you. I’m sure he just thought you wanted to be alone, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings any more. You know how Moomin can be.”

“Yes… Maybe you’re right. So you think, if I came around, he wouldn’t mind?”

“I’ll tell you what, he and I have been saying it’s about time we went out for a proper day at the beach. Come along. Sniff and Little My are sure to be there as well.”

“That does sound delightful. I’ll come.”

“We’re not sure when exactly we’ll go, but perhaps tomorrow or the day after. Come over for breakfast and we’ll sort it all out. I’ll let Moomin know you’re joining us.”

Snorkmaiden smiled, her first real, easy smile since he’d found her. “Thank you, Snufkin! A day at the beach… It’ll be great fun. I’ve missed everyone so terribly.”

Snufkin got to his feet, picking up his things and offering Snorkmaiden one last smile before he departed. “We’ll be glad to have you again, Snorkmaiden.”

☼ ☁ ☼ ☁ ☼ ☁

Snufkin loved the smell of salt in the wind. He adored the feeling of the sea as it crashed against a rocky shore, its spray falling upon his skin and fur. It made the hair on his head feel dry and rough. The view of the ocean from shore, its deep blue body against an even wider, light blue sky… Here was a scene he wouldn’t give up for the world.

The mumrik sat atop a tall rock so he could see it all. On the coastline, Sniff and Little My were poking around for anything that had washed up. Already, Sniff had found a glass bottle, though the only secret messages it contained were sea water and tiny shells. Little My had dug up a few nice shells which were of little interest to her, along with part of a broken boat wheel and what appeared to be an abandoned washboard.

As those two combed the land, Moomin and Snorkmaiden had taken to the sea. Snufkin could see their pale bodies bobbing along in the waves. They weren’t too far out, but it was beyond Snufkin’s personal boundaries. He could swim as well as most, but he wasn’t what he would consider a strong swimmer, and felt all around safer on land or in the shallows. He did like to watch the moomin and snork make their way through the water, though. Moomin were not technically aquatic creatures, but they took to water as well as any fish, Snufkin often thought. Snorks could swim well too, being of similar shapes to moomins, but they couldn't hold their breaths nearly as long as the other trolls. Snufkin had seen Moomin go deep under the water for minutes at a time; unless the troll was somehow forced to lose his breath, he managed to keep it longer than anyone else Snufkin knew.

It was always fun to watch him in the water, too. Snufkin wouldn’t describe Moomin as being graceless - he could dance well and he was fast, agile on his feet when he had to be. Underwater, though, he could be simply elegant. Snufkin loved the way he moved his body so fluidly, with long strokes of the arms and strong kicks, his tail curving behind him like the end of a serpent.

Currently, Moomin was attempting to catch a fish. Snufkin had struck a friendly bargain with him: if the troll could find and catch a big enough fish (or many smaller fish), Snufkin would cook them all dinner. They could have a bonfire on the beach, which sounded like a pleasant idea indeed. Already Moomin had caught two fairly sizeable fish, but he was still hunting, wanting to impress his friend with a great catch.

Snufkin watched as Moomin and Snorkmaiden swam about, sometimes becoming distracted as they splashed each other or tugged on the other’s tail playfully. The sight filled Snufkin with a relieved contentment. It had been a little awkward yesterday morning when Snorkmaiden had come around the house, but Mamma had made her feel welcome of course, as did Pappa, and so Moomin naturally followed. By the time breakfast was finished, things had eased to the point of familiarity once again.

The day went on. At one point Little My demanded to swim, shucking off her dress - she already wore a tiny suit underneath - and hopping into the brine; called forth by her enthusiasm and wishing to share it, Snufkin followed soon after. Coat and boots and trousers gone, weighted down along with his hat by a rock to secure them against the ocean breeze, he slipped into a borrowed pair of swimming shorts from the beach hut and joined Little My close to the shore.

They played with the waves. Snufkin dove now and then to gather flat rocks, and with Little My on his shoulders, waded further out so they could escape the waves and skip their rocks across the less choppy ocean surface. Little My sat atop his head and did a truly horrid job of actually skipping the rocks, preferring to toss them with all her strength and see how far they would go. Once or twice she aimed for the nearby trolls, managing to catch Snorkmaiden’s rump with a pebble. The girl scoffed in surprise at Little My, who merely laughed, and that led to a great chase and lots of yelling.

Said chase was eventually interrupted by a great splashing. The three turned to see Moomin wrestling with something in the water. In another moment it leaped, carrying him out of the ocean as he rode the back of the fish. It was a large one, almost bigger than Moomin, with brilliant red-gold scales.

It was a battle, but Moomin finally managed to win out and drag the thing onto shore. Snufkin quickly pulled it by its tail away from the water while Moomin collapsed in the sand, exhausted from wrestling with it. The others cheered and Snufkin praised him for the catch.

Dinner came soon after that, with most of the five friends feeling quite worn out from all the swimming. Snufkin and Sniff got the fire started while Moomin, Snorkmaiden, and Little My went off to grab chairs and blankets from the shack for them to sit on.

Snufkin prepared and cooked the fish for them all to share, and Moomin helped him store the rest in the icebox in the shed to take home later. As night fell and their fire began to grow, casting warm light across the dark sand, wisps of heat flickering in the ocean breeze, Snufkin took up his harmonica and played.

Moomin and Snorkmaiden danced together. Of course, dancing in the sand was not easy - they stumbled and stepped on one another’s feet, and all the while giggled. Little My did a jig on Sniff’s stomach, ignoring the brown creature’s cries that he was much too full to dance or be danced on.

After a handful of songs and very much falling over in the sand and spinning each other around, Snorkmaiden and Moomin breathlessly parted, almost doubling over from laughter. Then the troll came over to Snufkin and beckoned with a hand at his friend. “Snufkin! Snufkin, dance with me!”

Snufkin smiled and held up his harmonica. “But then who will play the music, if you and I are busy?”

“We can play!” Little My insisted. She hopped off Sniff, much to his relief. His pleasure was short lived, however, as the small mymble shoved the glass bottle he’d found into his stomach instead.

“Ouch! Little My!”

“Play this, you lazy oaf! I can play the washboard with a stick!”

“A washboard isn’t exactly a frottoir,” Snufkin said with good humor, knowing she didn’t care. As Little My went off for a piece of driftwood, Snufkin put his harmonica safely back into his bag and came over to Moomin.

He’d yet to put his clothes back on, still wearing only the swim shorts he’d borrowed. When Moomin caught his hands and stepped in close, seemingly drunk with happiness, exuding the radiance of summer, his soft belly pressed against Snufkin’s bare skin. He had to work to keep his claws from digging into the troll’s knuckles. He had to remind himself to breathe, even though each inhale pressed his body closer to Moomin’s.

Snorkmaiden led them along, choosing a smooth, happy summer song about a lake that wanted to be the sky, and so it spent its life running towards the sea, which it had heard was almost the same thing. Sniff blew blunt notes with the bottle and Little My scratched along with her makeshift instrument. The imperfect musical accompaniment didn’t matter much at all to Snufkin. The oddly somber tone hidden in Snorkmaiden’s voice barely earned his attention. He was too distracted with Moomin’s laughter, so light and free and so close to him, he could feel it bouncing around inside him, like the echo of a cave which hid a spring at its heart.

Was this what had been missing, that night after the party, when he was alone in his tent? Yes, he thought this must be it. Usually when Snufkin departed from a gathering because he felt overwhelmed, Moomin would come after him, if only to make sure his friend was feeling alright. Sometimes he would return to the others, but just as often he would choose to stay with Snufkin, and bring along with him the idea of camaraderie without the expectation of it.

For Snufkin always felt, in situations like parties, there was an expected outcome. He was obligated to stay, to participate, to play or dance or talk, and to leave was to go against the expectation. But Moomin never made him feel like that, not when they were with others and not when they were alone. If Moomin wanted anything from Snufkin, it only ever came along as a request. Like  _play something, please?_  or  _won’t you come with us?_  or  _Snufkin, dance with me._

Sometimes they didn’t feel like requests, though. Sometimes, it truly felt as if there would be no denying Moomin. It made a strange sensation knot up in Snufkin’s stomach; it was like pricking his paw on the hidden thorn of a plant, not enough to break the skin or bleed but enough to warn him. But how could Moomin be anything like that? He was not hidden thorns meant to keep others away. If anything, that suited Snufkin better.

Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t come after Snufkin that night. As they danced, uneven steps in endlessly shifting sand, Snufkin realized he had been lonely that night. Even though the party was lively and he had wanted to pull himself away from it, even though he had enjoyed the quiet and his pipe and the stars, he understood now he had hoped Moomin would come after him anyway. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed back, with his mother and father and all of their friends, and hadn’t even dropped by to check on Snufkin or say goodnight.

A long, deep, hollow sound echoed in Snufkin’s body. He hesitated, looking up. They all turned to see Sniff had somehow fallen asleep with the bottle in his lap. Long neck drooping, his breathy snores continued to draw out notes from the bottle.

“Oh for goodness sake,” Little My grumbled. She held up her stick threateningly; Snorkmaiden stopped her just in time.

“Wait, leave him! That’s fine, we can just change the song. I know one slow enough to go along.”

“You sure I can’t wack him?”

“One more song, please!” Moomin begged. “I’m having such fun. Aren’t you, Snufkin?”

Snufkin said nothing, but gave him a smile, and for a moment Moomin’s eyes sparkled and it was as if they were the only ones on that beach. Then Snorkmaiden sang again, and the song fit her better, for it was slow and cool against the heat of the fire; it spoke of two souls lost in woods so lonely, dark and deep, who could only find their way out after they met by happenstance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next one! I'd been planning to save this until I had more of 4 written, but it's been sitting finished for a while and I've been so, so busy, I'm not sure when I'll have time to finally sit down and really get into chapter 4 (though it has been started). So, hopefully this can tide you all over until the next update~
> 
> Thank you all so so SO much for all of your comments! I can't believe how many I've gotten on this fic, I'm always surprised to see email notifications about new ones, and it really means a lot to me. They've been a bright spot during these last couple of very hectic weeks. I appreciate them all so very much, thank you ;w;

**Part 1: To Dance in a Shower of Turning Leaves**

* * *

 

_Chapter 3_

 

The autumnal season was always an interesting time to Snufkin. As the warmth of summer slowly disappeared, Moominvalley took on a lovely visage. To be truthful, after spring, fall was Snufkin’s favorite season. It was the time of soft, earthy tones, and very pale skies. These were the months of elderberries, rowan, chestnuts, and sweet red apples. Here came the animals as they searched for food to eat, store, hide away in preparation for a long winter. It was a time concerned with food, but in opposition to spring and summer, where harvests were cheerfully consumed; here came jams and jellies, pickled things and wines, all sorts of preservatives meant to keep in dark places and last through the coldest season.

The air and water grew almost frigid, and the wind came in low and fast. Sometimes a faint rain drifted by on a cloud, too far for Snufkin to feel but he could still see it, casting its shadow across a stretch of the valley. The birds called out for friends and gathered, wings twitching, endless and restless yet waiting, until something special and unknown to Snufkin told them it was time, and all at once - starting anywhere but certainly somewhere, by some one individual who was chosen to spark it - took off into the sky and disappeared beyond the mountains. It was a time before the winter, before Snufkin’s departure, when he was very aware of his own being and his presence in the valley. He felt the air, and thus the world, open to him. He was still close to Moomin and all the others, to their kindness and companionship, but the constant reminders of an approaching winter were almost refreshing, soothing his anxious heart and reminding him that there was no need to feel stifled, as he would be on his way before he knew it.

This is also Snufkin’s favorite time to fish. His luck is often high in the fall, and somehow the lakes and streams seem even more tranquil. All around him is nothing but dry grass and every now and then, a breeze to toy with that grass, only whispers and the burbling of water on rocks. The clouds are thin and drift on easy. The sunlight is thin and gentle.

On this day, Snufkin has been in search of such a peace. It’s evading him, though, and the mumrik finds his tempter lighting as he comes up to yet another occupied lake. There are children playing about near the shore, and from their picnic basket and toys he can take the hint that they aren’t going anywhere else soon. With a grumble, Snufkin quickly turns heel and hurries off before he is seen.

It seemed like there was someone everywhere he wanted to be. Snorkmaiden and Little My had been down the brook, his closest and most convenient spot to fish. In no mood for company, he had offered only a swift how-do-you-do before heading off and away to the nearest lake. That too had been crowded with people, all eager to spend one last day in the water before it really got too cold to enjoy. This same affliction led to a crowded beach, and then there were the ponds, mostly a last-resort when Snufkin was desperate. Oh dear, he was desperate now.

The last few days had been a smidge odd, and Snufkin was wary. If he hadn’t known better, he might have begun to think Moomin was avoiding him. The troll was spending a lot of time with his mother again, accompanying her on errands or visits to her friends, and sticking around the house to help her prep for winter. Which was all fine of course, and it was something Moomin did every year, only more so this time around. No, the main difference was in that he never asked Snufkin if he wanted to help or come along. Moomin would tell him if he’d be busy the next few days, then disappear with nary a moment spared to check in on the mumrik.

Again, it was all fine, just unusual. When autumn started to creep into the valley, Moomin tended to become very clingy. He and Snufkin would spend countless afternoons together in almost-silence, enjoying each other’s company. They’d go on long, quiet walks, just the two of them, exploring all over the valley. They’d climb the Lonely Mountain and peer out over the landscape, so high it felt like they were looking over the entire world sometimes. Snufkin knew better, though, and it would make him yearn to see that world, to see all he knew he couldn’t see right then. It was a bittersweet time, but a season he cherished, and he felt very close to Moomin on those lazy, thoughtful days.

With the troll’s persistent absence from his side, Snufkin felt off-balanced, which made him paranoid, which made him irritable. His inability to accomplish the simple task of fishing in his forced solitude was only making matters worse, and by the time Snufkin had wandered back to his camp, he was more than a little grumpy.

To his surprise, Moomin was sitting there at the bridge. He was humming a tune, something formless and quiet, and Snufkin could barely see the troll breathing. He was almost eerily still, and only his ear twitched as Snufkin got close enough to announce himself.

Well. Snufkin supposed if he couldn’t be one his own today, being with Moomin was just as well.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, settling down by his friend and preparing his gear. Moomin said a faint “Hello,” in response, but otherwise they were quiet. Moomin didn’t ask for a rod or a conversation, merely watched as Snufkin cast his line out. Moomin could be quite observant and often understood when Snufkin wasn’t in the mood to talk, but the mumrik couldn’t help wondering if this was less about his own desire for quiet and more some indication that Moomin had something on his mind, or perhaps he wasn’t feeling up for chat himself.

This was still so strange, Snufkin thought. He wasn’t used to being worried over Moomin.

For a long time they merely sat. Snufkin fished. He caught a few small things and then let them go, finding no use for them. Very slowly, like a haggard animal letting its defenses down, Snufkin felt the restless anger gradually start to leave him. He’d even begun to consider giving up fishing and pulling out his harmonica when Moomin spoke.

“Snufkin, may I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Snufkin replied on impulse, though something in Moomin’s voice almost made him wish he’d stopped to consider. “Is there something wrong?”

“Um… no. Not really. I was just thinking about… Well, it’s nearly winter.”

“Yes, it’ll be upon us before we know it.”

“Yes. Well, I’ve been thinking. I mean.” Moomin looked away and Snufkin thought he was holding his breath, bracing himself. Then, very quietly, Moomin went on to ask, “Do you suppose… perhaps this time, maybe, I could go along when you leave? I know you-”

Something small and sharp and hot flared up in Snufkin’s chest and he said without thinking, “This again?”

Moomin shifted, tail beginning to curl up then thud against the bridge. “It’s just that, I was hoping-”

“I thought I already told you I don't want you with me.” Snufkin’s voice was very hard, and the words felt cold and rough as they came from his mouth, like he was tossing stones at the troll. “Do I really have to explain it again?”

“No,” Moomin huffed. His tail was flicking now, back and forth; Snufkin realized his friend was also developing a temper. “I remember what you said.”

“Then why bother asking? You know I’ll say no. I have to be alone,” Snufkin continued, feeling perfectly waspish.

“Well, you don’t really _have_  to.”

Snufkin narrowed his eyes at Mooomin, who responded in kind. The troll crossed his arms and looked away again, swinging his leg in the air, looking for all the world as if he’d wished he’d been able to kick something.

“Moomin, what is your problem?” Snufkin found himself asking, and to his surprise his voice was rising. Something in him was shivering, trembling even, and curling itself so tight into a ball it weighed in his stomach like some horrible stone. If he fell forward into the stream, he might sink all the way down to the bottom. “You know, you’ve been very strange this year. Perhaps you wouldn’t feel the need to ask useless questions if you just spent time with me in the first place.”

“I’ve spent time with you!” Moomin argued, sounding defensive. His breath was picking up in anger.

“Well sure you have, but not as much as usual. Just as often as not you’ve run off to do something or other on your own, and of course that’s very fine and I’m not the kind to complain. How could I? But that doesn’t mean you get an excuse to ask me that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Moomin grumbled, and his voice was turning ugly. Snufkin realized they were having an argument, a real one, and for some reason that only made him angrier. His paws were shaking so hard, he had to reel in his line and put his fishing rod down to keep them occupied.

Even more, it gave him a moment to consider Moomin’s question. What  _was_  that supposed to mean? Why had he said it? He wasn’t sure, but it just felt like- he felt like Moomin was-

“You can’t ignore me all season and then try to steal time from me in winter to make up for it,” he answered. The mumrik got to his feet.

Moomin followed suit, getting up quickly, tail lashing back and forth and his fists clenched. “I’m not trying to  _steal_  anything!” he shouted back. Oh, he sounded hurt, Snufkin thought. The troll was breathing a little funny, like he had something to say and was constantly drawing in a breath to speak, but couldn’t find the words. At last, he choked out, “Fine. I’m sorry for asking and I won’t ask again, and I’ll never try to go with you again. I shouldn’t have asked anyway, I knew you’d say no, so it was a dumb thing to do and useless, just like you said.”

All at once the anger which had possessed Snufkin was gone. He tried to look apologetic and reached out to his friend. “Look, Moomin-”

“I have to go,” Moomin gasped. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go home now.”

At this Snufkin grew very nervous and his regret was felt in full force. On the few occasions when Snufkin joined his family for a meal since summer, Moomin often stayed quiet. On two such days, he’d even excused himself early, quickly running up to his room. Moominmamma would inevitably go after him, and Snufkin would reluctantly depart, hoping his friend’s mother would sooth whatever strange mood had stuck him. Snufkin realized now they had all begun in a similar way, with Moomin gradually losing more of his breath, wheezing at the table until he could no longer stand it and had to flee.

It reminded him of what Snorkmaiden had said, and her description of Moomin’s ‘attack’ at her house. He stood there, helplessly watching as his friend turned away and hurried back up the hill to Moomin House; surely, Snufkin had never felt so wretched in his life.

He couldn’t understand his own temper. Sure, maybe it was a little frustrating to have Moomin ask that question again. He hadn’t been upset the first time, only a bit surprised, and Snufkin remembered what he had said then, too - it would’ve been great fun to have Moomin along on his travels. But he knew in his heart it would not have lasted, that at some point he would have felt trapped within Moomin’s company, obligated to keep close and be considerate and adjust his own way of life to suit the needs of the troll. In the end it would lead to resentment, rotting away at their friendship. Snufkin knew this, which is why he'd said no.

Then, to hear Moomin bring the topic up again, to actually ask him even though he  _knew_  Snufkin would never-  _could_  never- accept… Something about that had bothered Snufkin deeply.

Perhaps, he thought, it had to do with the general strangeness of Moominvalley this year. There was Mamma’s injury to consider, as well as Moomin’s odd moods, and the fact that he’d broken up with Snorkmaiden. The dynamic of their little group of friends had begun to shift into something wholly new and a little harder to define. Even though they all got together still, and could speak to one another and have little adventures and enjoy each other’s company… it was still a little different. No one mentioned it - maybe they weren’t even aware of it - but Snufkin had no doubt they all felt it as he did.

With a sigh, the mumrik gathered up his rod and resumed his quest for fish. At last, there was no one to bother him. He was alone, just as he had wanted.

🍁 ⛅🍁 ⛅🍁

For days, they did not talk. Moomin stayed at home, and Snufkin kept to the inside of his tent or very far off, mostly fishing and smoking his pipe. During the middle of their... (What was this? Were they fighting? Were they giving each other the cold shoulder? Was it something else, something serious, something permanent?)  _...situation_ , Snorkmaiden tracked Snufkin down. She’d just visited the Moomin House and wanted to let Snufkin know that Moomin was doing fine.

“I would have thought he was,” Snufkin replied, not looking up from the still waters of the lake where he was fishing. Snorkmaiden stood behind him, that book in her hands again. This time there was only one flower between its pages. “Why have you come to tell me?”

“Oh, no, Snufkin, don’t think you get to snap at me as well,” she said loftily, and Snufkin actually flinched. From the tone of her voice, Moomin had relayed exactly what their argument had been like. “I know for a fact you two haven’t talked in days, and guessed you were wondering after him. So you’re very welcome for doing all the hard work of going over there, and telling you afterwards. I didn’t have to.”

Snufkin chewed on his words, then swallowed them. Instead, he forced himself to take a deep breath. “Thank you, Snorkmaiden. I’m sorry I was being rude before; won’t you come sit with me? Tell me how he is.”

Snorkmaiden kept him company for the rest of the afternoon. She asked after the reasons for Snufkin’s attitude with Moomin, and the mumrik couldn’t give her a good answer.

“I was just upset,” he offered, knowing it wasn’t enough. “I wasn’t being fair. I was being very harsh, actually. I couldn’t tell you why.”

“People don’t say and do things for no reason, Snufkin.”

“Have you been talking to Too-Ticky?”

The snork giggled. “Why yes! I’ve been talking to all sorts of people more often now, actually, since I don’t spend as much time with Moomin. Mostly I’ll have tea with Too-Ticky and Mymble, or Mymble and I will go out to the village just outside of the valley to look around at things, or I’ll run about with Little My, maybe Sniff too. I’ve even taken up helping Mr. Hemulen with his flower collecting.”

“Is that so? I was wondering about that book you have with you; is that for notes?”

“Not exactly.” Snorkmaiden turned a pretty pink as she opened the book. Snufkin could see now that flowers had been dried, pressed, and affixed to pages of the book. Beside each flower was their common and scientific name, then what appeared to be notes on where they grew and what their meanings were. “This is just something I like to do, myself. Mr. Hemulen helps me learn some of the fancy names and the meanings, but I do everything else myself!”

“That’s lovely,” Snufkin said, smiling. What a nice sort of book to have with you, so you could keep all kinds of flowers and plants closeby. It was different than having a book with only pictures; Snufkin watched as Snorkmaiden ran a fingertip along the petal of a primrose, lying white and stark against the slightly yellow-brown paper. Looking upon it, the mumrik felt a twinge of guilt, the same that had been haunting him since that day on the bridge.

“Snorkmaiden, do you think Moomin is ready to make up yet?”

“I’m not sure. He doesn’t seem very well right now. I think he’s very sad, worried about you and worried about his mother, too.”

“But Moominmamma has been fine whenever I see her.”

Snorkmaiden gave him a funny look, like he needed another scolding. “Snufkin, it doesn’t matter that she’s fine now.”

“But then why would Moomin feel so worried over her?”

“You know, Moomin thinks you’re a very clever person,” Snorkmaiden said, “and I know you can be clever - one can learn a lot by traveling, I suppose. You’re being quite empty-headed right now, though.”

Snufkin blinked in surprise, but in the end he couldn’t help but laugh. Snorkmaiden laughed along with him, and he thought it really was a shame, indeed, that they had never spent more time together, just the two of them. He wondered why that was.

In the following days, Snufkin waited. He knew it ought to be him who delivered an apology to Moomin, but he still wasn’t sure when would be the right time to approach. If he waited too long, Moomin might think he was so upset he was intent on leaving early, or without a goodbye, which he certainly wasn’t. For some reason, though, the path up to Moomin House seemed quite a long way indeed.

In the end they met when neither had intended, crossing paths by pure coincidence. Snufkin had been spending his night creeping around the woods in search of grubs. There was a certain kind of insect which was nocturnal, but they made excellent bait. Having removed his shoes in an effort to explore the underbush as silently as possible, Snufkin crawled between bushes and inspected the spaces around tree roots. He had a small jar with him, and was putting another good find inside when he heard it: a voice, oh so faint, drifting above the canopy.

Snufkin followed the voice, saddened by it, for he could tell it was lonesome and weary. Soon he was at the same cliff which hid his secret spring. Knowing who he would find, Snufkin slipped in through the crevice.

Moomin was there, reciting the final lines of an over-long lyric:

_And between them stood_

_The entirety of earth_

_Dirt grasses animals_

_All that stars are worth_

_And between them swelled_

_The gravity of earth_

_Pulling her away_

_From warmth and from the birth_

_Of love that could be made_

_From dust or naught at all_

_Her bright sun gone again…_

The echo of his voice faded as Moomin stopped, staring at Snufkin, who stood near the opposite edge of the spring. They watched each other. The water between them was still and dark.

Snufkin walked over and sat across from Moomin. The rocks were wet and very cold under his toes. In fact, he was very cold in general. He wondered if Moomin was, too, despite how close his friend sat to the icy spring.

Silence. Darkness. The only light came from the crack above them, casting an ethereal glow. Snufkin watched as a strip of moonlight cut first across Moomin’s snout, his soft white stomach, and then the rocks before him. Once it was swimming in the water, Moomin finally spoke.

“That song is sad,” he said. That was all he said.

“Why do you think so?” Snufkin asked, and his voice was very quiet.

“I just think so,” Moomin said. “You know… It’s about the sun and the moon, and how they love each other, but can’t be together.”

“But they do meet,” Snufkin offers. “Whenever there’s a solar eclipse, the moon is with the sun.”

“Only for a moment,” Moomin protests. “And… and, you know, Snork has talked about how the sun is so very far away from us, and how the moon is much closer and smaller. So even if they’re together, they’re still not actually close. They’ll never be close.”

“Maybe not close enough to touch,” Snufkin said quietly. He stared at Moomin, who stared at the moonlight in the pool.

Snufkin had removed his hat and scarf before he realized exactly what he was doing.

Once his clothes were off, he slipped into the water. It was dreadfully cold, and he began to shiver instantly. Still, he ignored the chattering of his teeth and floated over towards Moomin, who was staring at him with clear surprise.

“Snufkin!” he said, his voice still low and soft. It made something in Snufkin light up, and impossibly, he felt warm. “You shouldn’t do that! You’ll get a cold, or-”

“Moomin, I think it’s okay if the moon and the sun can never touch,” Snufkin said. He was a little closer now. If he reached out, he might touch the troll’s knee. “Even if they can’t ever be so close together, they can still see each other. And they can still love one another, too.”

“But they want to be together,” Moomin said. “They want to and they can’t.”

Somehow, Snufkin was able to feel it - all the sorrow that was swirling in Moomin at that moment, his agony over the idea of two lovers, the sun and the moon, never once reaching each other. They could only settle for a glimpse, the ghost of a caress, and something like a promise.

“It’s only a song, Moomin.”

“It’s still sad.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Snufkin?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Snufkin replied, and he held out a hand. Moomin didn’t hesitate before taking it, but then they both leaned back and tugged, and so neither moved. After a moment, they both laughed.

“You shouldn’t stay in the water!” Moomin insisted.

“Well, it’s not so cold now,” Snufkin lied. “I’m already used to it.”

“You are not; I can feel you shivering! It’s much too late and too cold to be swimming in water like that.”

“Maybe if you come in and see for yourself, you’ll agree with me.”

Moomin laughed outright, and Snufkin felt like he was floating in air instead of water - absolutely weightless. “More likely, we’ll both get sick!”

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to be sick together.”

Moomin laughed again, and his smile was beautiful. He pushed himself into the water, casting freezing waves Snufkin’s way so they hit his cheek, and the moomin yelled and the yell bounced back off the walls, letting Snufkin know exactly what he thought of this silly idea. The mumrik laughed as Moomin swam over to him, pushing at him, hands on his shoulders as he loudly complained about the cold, and Snufkin only made the troll chase him about in the water for a few minutes before climbing out.

Shivering, they snuck back home, Snufkin in little else but his trousers and scarf. Moomin had stolen his hat and was doing a very insulting impression of him, which made Snufkin laugh some more. They stayed at the tent that night, sharing the warmth of a hastily made campfire. When Snufkin asked when Moomin intended to go home - for surely, he would prefer the chance to take a warm bath and return to his cozy bed - Moomin had only shaken his head and sat down close to Snufkin on his side of the fire. They shared his pipe and caught up on the days they’d lost to useless, senseless, unwanted anger.

It was not the first time he had shared a tent with Moomin. In fact, they went camping often. Usually the others had been with them, but now and then he and Moomin liked to make a trip of visiting the mountain, or would stay the night in an unfamiliar corner of the valley so they could explore. It felt natural, letting Moomin in his tent and setting up a nest big enough for both to share. Snufkin had extra blankets for cold months, and Moomin helped him construct something that would allow them to share body heat easily.

In the dark, finally tucked together under blankets, Snufkin said, “Moomin, I’m afraid you ended up handing over an apology before I could deliver my own. I’m very sorry for what I said the other day.”

“Oh, it’s okay, Snufkin.”

“Not really,” Snufkin said with a smile, one he knew his friend would never see in the dark. “You deserve better than me being nasty because I was in an odd temper.”  _You deserve so much, Moomin._  “It wasn’t fair and I want you to know I didn’t mean it.”

“Ah. Thank you. I’m sorry I asked in the first place.”

“It’s okay. Just…”

“Hm?”

He wanted to know why. For some reason, he felt it was too important not to know. After all these years, what had compelled Moomin to bring up the subject? What would have pushed him to ask, even when he knew what the answer would be? Surely he couldn’t have expected just how badly Snufkin would react, but he might have expected the mumrik to wonder after the reason.

Did he expect Snufkin to ask?

“Nevermind.”

It was too much. Snufkin sighed and turned onto his stomach, pressing his face into his half of the one pillow he owned, which they now shared. Facing away from Moomin, he whispered, “Goodnight,” and sought something simpler, like a dreamless sleep.

🍁 ⛅🍁 ⛅🍁

Winter was drawing near. In just a few weeks, Snufkin would be off on his own again, and he was looking forward to the trip. He loved to travel more than almost anything else in the world, and the prospect of seeing new sights and people, of learning new songs and ways of the world and of nature, made his soul feel lighter.

Even Moomin seemed to be in better spirits despite the time of year. He’d reverted back to being a bit clingy, trying to spend as much time as he could with Snufkin. As with every fall season before, they were mostly by themselves, going on long walks more than anything. Now and then Moomin would convince Snufkin to spend the day inside where it was warm. Along with the others, they even spent an evening at the bathhouse where Too-Ticky lived, and stayed the night in her humble underground abode, lying together in warm blankets by the hearth in her sitting room.  

One morning, Moomin came by Snufkin’s tent. He had been waiting first by the bridge, then at the camp, close enough to hear Snufkin’s breathing through the dark green material. The two of them had planned on one last hike up the mountain, which was something of a tradition. They’d climb all the way to the top and see all across the valley, in every direction, and contemplate the coming year in some beautiful, shared silence.

But Snufkin had not gotten up yet, and he never slept in. An hour after they’d agreed to meet, Snufkin felt something touch his shoulder. It failed to rouse him from his sleep at first, but a few shakes finally got the mumrik to open his eyes. “Hm?”

“Snufkin? You didn’t stay up so late, did you? It’s nearly noon, now.”

“You don’t say?” Snufkin sat up and yawned. He was still slow with sleep, another unusual thing - of all of their friends, Snufkin had the easiest time hopping out of bed to greet the morning. He often preferred to get up around dawn and prepare himself for the day before there came distractions. “We’ll have to be off quick, then, for our trip.”

Moomin gave him a scrutinizing look. “Are you alright, Snufkin?”

“Of course! Just a little tired. I might have stayed up late feeling out a new song.”

“Oh, what sort of song?”

That left Moomin sufficiently distracted as Snufkin ran through his routine. Once he was ready, they each shouldered a pack of provisions, pipe grass, water, and blankets. The plan was to spend the day hiking to the peak, then taking a steeper path as their shortcut back down. Hopefully they’d reach ground before it got too dark and be home before midnight.

They set off, holding conversation for a while before it faded naturally. Snufkin found himself grateful for the lack of talking after a while. He felt strangely winded, and they hadn’t even gotten to the main path leading to Lonely Mountain.

Moomin, who was a few paces ahead, glanced back at Snufkin. “Are you quite sure you’re alright?”

“Of course!” Snufkin replied brightly. “Just a little tired, still. It’ll wear off.”

“Well, you’re looking a little flushed as well, is why I’m wondering,” Moomin explained. Before Snufkin could reassure his friend, the troll stopped walking and turned around. “Can I feel for your temperature?”

“I don’t have a temperature,” Snufkin muttered. “If I seem a bit red, Moomin, I’m sure it’s just the weather.”

“It’s not that cold today. I’m not wearing anything extra, am I?”

“You handle the cold better than I do.”

“Won’t you just let me check?”

“There’s no need,” Snufkin protested, but it was weak and in the end he allowed Moomin to come closer. He felt his heart thud in his chest as the moomin took his head in his soft, white paws. One moved up to hold his hat away, while the other guided his cheek so Snufkin was facing down a bit. The troll touched his friend’s forehead with his snout, holding it there.

Snufkin was quite familiar with the practice of touching foreheads to compare body temperature. He’d seen the Mother Mymble do it with her many children, and countless other folks he’d met in his travels. Moomins and snorks, however, had fur, and besides that, their snouts were much more sensitive to things like temperature. As with the Mother Mymble, so too had Snufkin witnessed Moominmamma pressing her snout to Moomin’s or Pappa’s, checking for fever. Snufkin knew her readings to be accurate.

Which is why when Moomin pulled away with him, his expression plainly concerned, Snufkin’s hopes of having a fine adventure up the mountain began to fade away. “I’m not sick.” It sounded more like a question than a statement, honestly.

Moomin gave him back his hat and pulled his hand from Snufkin’s cheek, and the mumrik was stricken with how cold that spot felt now. He shivered, and Moomin crossed his arms.

“We can’t go today,” he said, and Snufkin sighed. “Let’s head back!”

“I’ll be fine,” the mumrik said.

“Don’t whine.”

“I’m not whining.”

“You are,” Moomin said, a bit of amusement in his voice now. “You know what, I bet this is because we swam in that spring the other night. I told you we shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t get smug about it,” Snufkin grumbled. If that really was what had caused him to be ill, then it was certainly his own fault and he deserved the poor fortune. At least Moomin  wasn't similarly affected. Though, it seemed an oddly long time, for it to make him sick later rather than sooner. “I don’t want to be sick,” he sighed again, trying his best not to pout or whine. Snufkin did not pout, and he did not whine, but he  _hated_  being sick more than most things.

Reluctantly, Snufkin let Moomin guide him back the way they came. Snufkin insisted that he didn’t have to go up to Moomin House, though. He would be fine right here in his tent, resting up so that the cold or whatever it was would pass by morning, thank you very much. Moomin eventually gave in, only insisting he have some of Mamma’s soup to eat, and accept extra blankets so he was sure to stay warm.

They spent the early afternoon together, Snufkin sipping on a cup of hot soup while Moomin smoked his pipe and told some stories. After the soup and a vial of bitter medicine perscribed to him by Mamma, who also believed it to be a cold, Snufkin retired to his tent. Moomin left him with a goodbye and get-well-soon. Snufkin curled up in his blankets and fell asleep before Moomin’s footsteps had even faded away.

Moments later, Snufkin woke up again.

He was not in his tent. He wasn’t even outside, which was slightly more distressing. The mumrik felt blankets atop him, and whatever he was lying on was softer than the floor of his tent. Trying to blink deep sleep from his eyes, Snufkin sat up against the cushions and looked around.

He was in Moomin’s house, lying on the couch. The window curtains were drawn behind him, letting in very little light. He could tell it was somehow morning, though; had he slept through the entire day and night? Strange, given how exhausted he still felt.

Blinking, rubbing his eyes, trying to understand why so much of him was aching, Snufkin sat up fully. He could hear the moomins speaking in their kitchen, warm light spilling into the front room along with their voices. Pappa passed the doorway and did not notice he was awake. A moment later, Moomin’s snout peeked from around the corner as he spoke to his mother, saying, “Can I try waking him up again, Mamma?”

“I think you should, dear. If he doesn’t get up soon, I fear we may have to take him to the doctor.”

“Oh, no, not that! He would surely hate- oh! Snufkin, you’re awake!”

“Why am I here?” Snufkin asked, his voice a little raspy. He was very thirsty. Moomin came over and stood at his side. “Did I really sleep all day?”

“Snufkin, you slept for two days,” Moomin told him miserably. At Snufkin’s look of incredulity, he continued, “I went to check up on you the next morning, but you were still asleep. I woke you up and got you to drink more soup and medicine, but you fell asleep before you even finished your food… Do you not remember?”

“No, I don’t remember at all,” Snufkin said, feeling displaced and truly sick. There was a tangle of oddness in his stomach, and his body wouldn’t stop shivering, and something about this news made him feel dizzy.

Moomin took his shaking hand, clasping it between both of his own. “I thought you must have just needed to sleep it off, but you went the whole day without coming out of your tent, and when I checked on you again that night you were still asleep, and that time I couldn’t rouse you. It was getting dreadfully cold, so I asked Mamma what I should do and she said it would be safest if we brought you in.”

“Oh. I see.”

“I’m sorry,” Moomin said, ears drooping. “I didn’t know what else to do. But, do you feel any better Snufkin?”

He wished he could lie, pretend he was fine so he could go back to his camp, but the mumrik knew better. “Not especially,” he admitted. “I’m very thirsty, and still quite cold for some reason.”

“I’ll get something hot for you,” Mamma said from the kitchen doorway. “Pappa dear, please get a few more blankets and pillows for Snufkin. We’ll move him up to the guest room, it’ll be much more comfortable.”

“Oh, no,” Snufkin said, “I’m sure that won’t be needed. It’s a persistent cold, but a day or two on the couch and I’ll be out of your fur. I’m sure.”

Mamma gave him a doubtful look. “Are you quite certain you wouldn’t rather go up, Snufkin?”

“I’d rather stay downstairs, Mamma,” he said politely. She eventually nodded and left to fix his food.

Pappa gave him an extra pillow to help him sit up and another thick blanket. “You know, son, it might be difficult to head out in this sort of condition.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine soon,” Snufkin said, though he didn’t sound so convinced. Still, the idea of being ill until winter began was a bit of a stretch - he had at least two and a half weeks before the first snow fell. “With a bit more rest and Mamma’s attention, I’ll certainly heal up before we know it.”

“Isn’t that right!” Pappa agreed, rubbing his chin. “I’ve never known an ailment our dear Mamma coudn’t fix.”

“In the meantime,” Moomin said, hands still holding Snufkin’s and giving his a bit of a squeeze, “please let yourself feel at home and rest as much as you can!”

Reluctantly, Snufkin did so. Moomin collected his things from the campsite so they weren’t lost, damaged, or taken by someone like Stinky. Most of it was stored in the shed, but many of Snufkin’s essentials were kept in his backpack and stationed by the couch, where he could easily reach and see them.

The expectation was for him to stay at least a week; he would get over the worst of his cold, then make sure it was fully gone before being allowed to prepare for his trip. That was the plan. That was what Snufkin hoped for as he lay there, sweating with a fever that seemed unwilling to subside.

One week became two. Snufkin’s condition did not improve. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. It became harder and harder for him to sleep, though he almost always felt exhausted. His appetite disappeared; though Snufkin knew the importance of a meal and hated turning away perfectly good food, he found he couldn’t stomach any more soup, subsisting mostly on plain bread and water as well as small scraps of unseasoned fish. Eventually, after a long discussion which nearly turned into an argument, Snufkin consented to being taken to the doctor’s office. She was a mumrik like him, though Snufkin wasn’t sure what she was crossed with. Her diagnosis didn’t suggest anything other than the common cold or perhaps a strange flu, and her prescription was more of the same as well as a few bottles of medicine for Snufkin to take daily.

Moomin stuck by him, waving off the half-hearted threats of Snufkin’s illness possibly being contagious, instead putting his efforts into amusing his friend when the mumrik could handle the company. A lot of the time, however, Snufkin was left alone to try and sleep. He felt truly uncomfortable in that house for the first time in his life. He hated being stuck inside it, hated being confined to these covers, this couch. It was unnerving to, at all hours, have other people making noises around him. The moomins would walk about upstairs, making the wood creak, and it kept Snufkin up at night until they went to sleep. He would hyperfocus on every single ambient noise if it didn’t come from outside: the sound of water dripping in a faucet, or windows shuddering against a harsh wind.

The noises haunted his dreams, ringing, ringing, ringing, so that he could not settle down. He was restless and tired and it only made his condition worse.

Eventually, there was no doubt about it: something was wrong with Snufkin, and there was no way he could be allowed to go off on his own before winter arrived. Already frost was creeping into Moomin House. One evening, as Mamma lit the fire, Pappa sat down with Snufkin and forced him to discuss it outright.

“I hate to cause your family anymore inconvenience,” Snufkin said tonelessly. It had been two days since he’d gotten a good amount of sleep and he felt so very worn out. Even as the hearth grew hot, devouring fresh wood and sending waves of heat throughout the floor, Snufkin felt a chill skitter up his spine under the blanket, as if it was a clever beast which had snuck around his defences. His mind was foggy with a slight fever and many, many thoughts, crowding around in his mind so densely he could make absolutely no sense of them. It was like looking at something too close to his face, so that all detail was lost and it just became a fuzzy mass of color.

“Don’t be foolish, Snufkin,” Pappa said, not unkindly. He was smoking a bit before bed. Snufkin was caught on the way his pipe reflected the firelight, its orange glow curving elegantly along the shiny wood. “Despite the unfortunate circumstances, we’d be glad to have you. I only worry about someone taking care of you while we sleep.”

“Would it be better to have him stay with someone else?” Mamma asked, coming over. She whipped her hands on her apron and thought. “I wonder if Too-Ticky could take you in for the winter.”

“No!” Moomin was coming down the stairs, and he hurried on the last few steps, making his way over. “Can’t we let him stay? I’ll stay up with him!”

Pappa puffed a cloud of smoke. “Now Moomin, are you sure about that? It is our way to hibernate, after all.”

“I may be pretty sleepy,” Moomin admitted, “but I know I can keep myself up! I don’t want Snufkin to be lonely, and he’ll definitely need help. Too-Ticky is quite reliable, but she’ll be busy keeping the bathhouse running so everyone else can visit it during the winter, you know. And, uh, I don’t think she has as nice a kitchen as we do Mamma - what if she doesn’t have the sorts of foods and medicines that Snufkin will need?”

“Yes, I would rather stay here actually,” Snufkin said. It was only a half-lie - he’d rather not have to stay here at all, or anywhere else for that matter. But if it was a choice, of course he would stay with Moomin and his family. “I feel most comfortable here. I’d hate to put Too-Ticky in an tough spot as well.”

“Hmph.” Pappa blew smoke from his nostrils, thinking. Eventually he waved a hand and sighed. “I suppose you’re both onto something. Well, if that’s what you’d prefer Snufkin, then we’ll do it that way. Moomin, are you sure you can stay up with him?”

“I can! I’ll take naps now and then to help, but I can stay up.”

“I’ll make you a list of recipes for things that he might be able to eat,” Mamma said. “We have plenty in storage, so feel free to use anything you think you’ll need. Hopefully, you’ll be able to keep more down Snufkin, and regain a bit of your strength.”

“Thank you all very much,” Snufkin muttered, and truly, he meant it. He might not like this situation at all, might have even hated it, but a part of him did feel warm knowing that the moomins were fully prepared to take him in and help nurse him back to health. He wasn’t used to accepting help and attention like this. Snufkin had a suspicion he didn’t quite enjoy the process of being looked after, not by much. But if it was Moomin… well, perhaps it would be bearable.

However, that night, after all had trundled on upstairs to sleep, it began to sink in for Snufkin. This would be the first time he ever stayed in Moominvalley for the winter. This would be the first time that Snufkin, by no choice of his own, was forced to stay in one place - a house, for goodness sake. Even if he did recover at some point, there would be no sense in leaving in the middle of winter. Oh, to be sure, Snufkin could manage it. He might even be tempted to try, depending on how early into the season it was. But in essence, Snufkin was to be snowed in. Stuck. Trapped.

It was impossible to find sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this chapter was a little rough... there's some conflict cropping up! and we finally get to the 'sickfic' portion of this story, hehe. i like to think the couple of pleasant moments in this chapter help brighten up the rest of it though!
> 
> i'll try my best to update as soon as possible; i'm so excited for the rest of this story. thank you all again for reading~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind and thoughtful comments on the previous chapters, and for your patience waiting for this one! I really hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> There are a few more notes at the end, so give those a glance once you're finished~

**Part 2: Tracks in Snow Will Lead You Home**

* * *

 

_Chapter 4_

From the ground floor of Moomin House, there came quite a ruckus. There were voices, the clatter of plates, utensils, the laughter of friends. Occasionally, Sniff would shout indignantly. Sometimes Little My would issue some form of command, her voice clear, strong, inviting no argument. Mrs. Fillyjonk exclaimed now and again, complaining about someone's manners. All together, their voices were like the low warning-rumble of an incoming tremor.

On the upper floor of Moomin House, Snufkin lay on the bottom half of a small bunk bed. It was the same Little My and other guests tended to sleep in, and he couldn't decide if he hated it or not. On the one hand, it reminded him somewhat of his tent - up against the wall, the space was closed off at that side, and Moomin had hung a blanket from the top-half like a curtain to hide Snufkin away. He liked that it was dark and warm and far enough from the stairs that those voices did not reach him so easily. Still, something about it remained unsettling. Maybe the bed was just too soft, or something about the box-like shape of the wooden frame…

Snufkin had to postpone his verdict, hearing footsteps. They were slower than Moomin's, but lacking the distinct sound of shoes on floorboards. Snufkin pulled his blanket up, prepared to feign sleep.

There came a gentle knock. “Snufkin, are you awake? It's Too-Ticky.”

“Oh! Yes, please do come in.”

Snufkin moved the blanket aside so he could see the stout woman as she let herself in. She was carrying a plate of food in one hand, covered by a handkerchief from the kitchen.

“Quite a shindig the moomins are throwing down there,” Too-Ticky said in good nature. She settled down in the same low stool Moomin had occupied just hours earlier. The older mumrik looked slightly harried, her cheeks flush and her blonde hair a bit wild. Putting her plate on the counter by the bed, she leaned on her knees and let out a big sigh. “And what a nice little setup you’ve got yourself here, Snufkin. Are you feeling much better?”

“A little,” Snufkin said, wanting to be truthful but unsure of what exactly the truth was. He’d been feeling warm earlier, swaddled in blankets as he was. But after the party had started and he shoo’d off Moomin to go eat and have fun with the others, the chill had come back. He was restless and hungry, cold and queasy, but at least he didn’t feel so frail. He sat up straighter in the bed, adjusting the pillows. They were all too squishy, with too much give. “I’ll be fine, though. I’m being taken care of by the best.”

“Yes, I can see.” Too-Ticky reached over to the plate and pulled the cloth away. There was a small selection of food there, as well as what had become a very familiar sight to Snufkin: a small, clear cup of medicine. He frowned at it. “Moominmamma told me to bring you up some things she thought you might be able to keep down. Would you like some?”

“Not especially… She knows better than I, though.” Snufkin reluctantly reached over to grab a pastry. It was dry and plain, with only a thin spread of honey atop it. Snufkin ate half, then took his medicine, followed by a drink from the glass of water he had on the table already. “Thank you.”

“Of course! Anything to help.” Too-Ticky paused, blinking slowly at him. Snufkin stared back, feeling anxious and unsure if it was the good or bad sort of look she was giving him. When his fellow mumrik fell silent, it meant she was gathering her thoughts.

“I imagine you’re having a rough time of it,” she said eventually, looking at him with an open expression. It wasn’t phrased like a question, but Snufkin understood her intentions. He debated on whether he wanted to share, but as always, it was hard to keep anything from somebody like Too-Ticky.

“I am,” he replied. It was easy to say, and a weight left him for doing it. This wasn’t something he could tell Moomin… or, at least, he couldn’t convey the true depth of his feelings without hurting the troll. “It has been so dreadfully, terribly awful.” Too-Ticky nodded him along. “I hate being sick, and I hate being stuck in one place… I love Moomin House and Moominvalley, but I can’t believe… that I have to stay here. During winter! It’s outrageous, I almost can’t believe it’s happening.” Snufkin rubbed his paws on his face, feeling like the frayed end of an overworn cloak. “The very few times I manage to get any sleep, I keep hoping I’ll wake up and this will all be some strange dream.”

Too-Ticky hummed, reaching over to pat his knee, which was safe under the blanket. Her paws were larger than his, heavy and soft. He felt the weight of her comfort seep through the layers of fabric which were his defence. Snufkin found he didn’t mind much, in this moment. He needed something like comfort.

“It’s such a shame,” Too-Ticky said, “for you to be held up, unable to go where you want. It’s not very fair at all.”

“No, it’s not,” Snufkin mumbled. He felt childish for pouting, but at this point he didn’t have much dignity left, so what was the point in acting at all mature? He breathed out a sad sigh. “I just… the worst part is I don’t even understand what this is or  _why_  it’s happening. The doctor had no idea what it might be. It can’t be a cold or a flu of any sort! It’s not at all similar, really, and those would have passed by now.”

“There are all sorts of things we don’t understand yet, and probably never will.”

“If you meant to help me feel better, that didn’t really do the job.”

Too-Ticky gave him a teasing smirk. “I bet it didn’t. That’s the truth, though. Some things will always be unknown and out of your control, lad. You get to a point where there’s no use in fretting over it. Best to keep your chin up if you can. Think of how lucky you are, to have such good friends who care about you.”

The mumrik pulled away, and her expression shifted to something more serious. “That’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Hm? I thought you were just on an errand?”

“Well, I am; Mamma thinks this is something you should know too. She said Moomintroll is going to be staying up with you through the winter, isn’t that right?”

“It is.”

“So she believed it would be in everyone’s best interest if you knew about his attacks.”

Snufkin’s ears twitched, and he forced his mind - prone to drifting and already feeling a bit strained by the conversation - snap back into focus. “Pardon me?”

Too-Ticky looked very sad. “It appears our dear Moomin has been suffering a bit this past year, Snufkin.” She paused, giving him a look of scrutiny. “You don’t sound all that confused. Do you already have an idea of what I’m talking about?”

“Yes… A bit,” Snufkin admitted. “That is to say, I know he’s been having these ‘attacks’ because Snorkmaiden told me about it. Well, about one of them, anyway.”

Snufkin recounted the story Snorkmaiden had told him about that previous winter. He went on to tell Too-Ticky about the few instances it seemed Moomin was unduly distressed and had to leave for his room.

“It happened… um, the other day, when we had a bit of an argument,” Snufkin admitted. It was something that had been gnawing away at him for a good while now - a moment he couldn’t bear to glance back and see again, else his thoughts would spiral. “I made him very upset, and he had trouble breathing and excused himself. I feel awful about it.”

Too-Ticky nodded. “Yes, they’re just like that. I haven’t actually seen it happen myself, but Moominmamma described them to me. I imagine she helped soothe Moomin through those instances you saw her follow him up to his room.”

Snufkin looked at his lap and pawed at blankets, feeling so tired, so sad and lost. “Was that all you wanted to tell me? To warn me about them?”

“Yes, but also how to help Moomin when it happens again.”

Snufkin’s head snapped up. “ _When_  it happens again? What do you mean?”

“Snufkin, listen to me very carefully. I’ve seen things like this before with people, often children… Kids like Ninny, who come from bad homes, sometimes they…” She paused, putting a paw under her chin. Snufkin could tell she was trying to think of the best way to explain, given he understood so little. Maybe she didn’t understand it so much, either, which made it even more difficult.

“It’s like this… Sometimes, we feel things deep inside us, and they’re very complicated and confusing. When we feel these things all the time, too much, and we still can’t make sense of them… our bodies get all mixed up, too. They start… acting out the feelings. Does that make sense? It’s like when you’re out in the snow. You know that you’re cold because you shiver, but it’s your body that’s trying to warm you up. It’s reacting to the cold, and by shivering, it’s trying to fix the problem. Sometimes our bodies try to fix problems, or react to problems, even if we can’t see them.”

She gave Snufkin a moment to think it over. It was an interesting idea, and one Snufkin hadn’t encountered before. He tried to make sense of it.

“So you’re saying that… something happened to Moomin, that made him very confused on the inside… So now when he gets upset, his body is reacting? Because…”

“Because now, when he feels anxious or afraid, it remembers the other time. It gets afraid too. It wants to shiver - to do something to fix the problem - but it doesn’t know what. So the body does strange things instead, just as mixed up and confusing as the feelings.”

“I think…  perhaps I understand. Maybe.” Snufkin rubbed his eyes. “It’s hard to keep it all in one spot, in my head. I’m very sorry - as I said, sleeping has been difficult…”

“You’re all right, Snufkin. Listen, the only thing I really needed you to know is this: Moomin may very well have another attack while his parents are asleep. You’ll be with him, so you need to know how to help calm him down if that happens. Moominmamma told me the best way is to get him to tell a story.”

“A story?”

“She said Moomin has a rough time breathing during his attacks. Asking him to recite a story - or perhaps a poem, or song lyrics - forces him to concentrate and make his breath more even, so that he can say the words right and get through it all. It also helps if you sit with him and rub his back.”

Snufkin rolled the information over in his head, then nodded to her. He wouldn’t forget.

“It may be a little scary,” Too-Ticky said as she got up from her stool, “but don’t worry, the attacks aren’t dangerous. They’re just upsetting for Moomin. And the best way to avoid them is to make sure he doesn't get too riled up in the first place.”

“Alright, I understand.”

Beneath them was an eruption of laughter, which faded back into formless chatter, like the noise a flock of birds makes. Too-Ticky stretched out her back and bellowed a sigh. “Best I be heading back down, I think. Got a lot to do to ready the bath house, and Mymble promised she’d come along to help. I imagine she’ll be more than a bit tipsy by this point.”

Snufkin smiled, but it was all he could do. He eyed the food at his side but found he had absolutely no appetite to spare.

“Things will probably break up soon,” Too-Ticky said before she turned away. “You seem well enough now Snufkin, if you wanted me to help you downstairs, to say goodbye to everyone before you get holed up?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Snufkin said, waving a paw. “It… well. I’ll see them in the spring, won’t I?”

She gave him a thoughtful look, but left him to his choice, merely tipping her hat before exiting the room. Snufkin, feeling exhausted from the encounter, fell back onto his pillows. More comforting than their softness was their ability to capture how he felt most, like he wanted to sink into something - through the floor, maybe, all the way down until he hit cold earth.

As he imagined himself disappearing past the bed, past the floor, Snufkin closed his eyes and tried to envision them all; gathered close together, in the kitchen mostly, but spilling into the living room as well. Snufkin had only ever been to the moomins’ annual end-of-fall feast once in his life, and he knew it to be a crowded affair. It often felt like all of Moominvalley had visited the troll family to bid them a happy hibernation and enjoy the warm food and company.

No, Snufkin thought, he couldn’t join them. Not like this, when he wasn’t even supposed to be there. It wouldn’t feel right… He’d be an intruder, some figure in the corner, so far apart he might as well be a shadow cast by lamplight.

Snufkin pulled the blankets close to him and curled up into a ball. Beneath him, music played, and his friends ate and sang and laughed.

Outside, it began to snow.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

Those first few days of winter were rough for Snufkin. Before everything was buried in totality with a blanket of snow, all he did was stare out the window and yearn to escape. He could see it so clearly, how easily he might throw open that front door and make his way down the path, past the bridge, on and on until he was out of sight, swallowed up by the distant treeline.

Moomin left him be, mostly, sensing the mumrik’s need to adjust himself to things. He helped Snufkin settle back downstairs, setting him up on the couch. The troll had moved it so it was no longer facing away from the large window of the sitting room, but rather ran perpendicular to it, so Snufkin could easily lean on the arm of the couch and look outside. He kept the curtains open and, on days when it was not yet too cold or windy, crack them open to let in the fresh air. Wherever he could, Moomin tried to let in natural light, uncovering any windows to be found on the main floor so that the pale blue-white winter sky filled each room.

Though there would be no true peace of mind for Snufkin, Moomin’s efforts did help a bit. It made things feel less stuffy, at least. While he had no love of the chill beginning to creep in as days passed, the air was fresh and made the house feel more open somehow.

Then the snow fell heavier, and Moomin was forced to keep the windows mostly closed, only cracking them open for brief periods of time during the day to cycle out dead air. The blinds remained pulled back, but nights were growing longer, and the days were often overcast. It was better than nothing, but did little for Snufkin’s mood.

After making sure his parents were properly settled and truly deep in their hibernation, Moomin did his absolute best to keep Snufkin occupied. To be truthful, Snufkin felt a bit stifled by Moomin’s coddling, but he could understand the troll’s intention. Snufkin already disliked his situation, and Moomin knew this - it would only be worse if the mumrik was left to wallow in his sadness. If left to occupy himself, Snufkin would no doubt fall into the labyrinth of melancholy found in his mind and remain there, only ever growing more and more lost. It would be harder to draw him out… perhaps impossible.

Snufkin was not prone to depression, and Moomin had never witnessed his friend at his worst. Yet somehow, he could sense this would be the case. Never before had Snufkin been more amazed at his friend’s ability to intuit such things. The troll always seemed to know just how much someone needed him.

So it was that Snufkin put up with Moomin’s ever-present company. It wasn’t all bad - Moomin was his best friend after all. He genuinely appreciated the troll’s efforts. And, to be sure, Snufkin might have gone mad with boredom if left alone too long.

They mostly played games and told each other stories. Moominpappa had many books as well, and so many afternoons or nights were spent with Snufkin lying down, trying to rest, while Moomin worked his way through a novel. He had a marvelous voice for it, Snufkin thought. Moomin hardly ever tripped over his words and did funny voices, in no way shy of performing each part. Some nights Snufkin was sent off to a blissfully heavy, dreamless sleep, lulled into that welcomed darkness by Moomin’s soft, steady voice.

There were evenings - and sometimes days - where Moomin had to sleep. If he hadn’t napped or taken a real rest for a few days, he grew adorably drowsy, slow to react and quick to confuse. It was dreadfully amusing, and Snufkin found himself helplessly endeared to his friend in these moments. He always encouraged Moomin to sleep for as long as he needed, but Moomin only ever let himself rest long enough to get back to his usual self. He made Snufkin promise to wake him up if he slept more than a day and a half, and the mumrik had no heart to break his promise.

Such was the situation Snufkin found himself in that evening. Not an hour ago, Moomin had sleepily crawled beneath Snufkin’s large blanket by the fire. They’d been talking about something or other; it was meaningless, given that the topic conversation itself had not been the most interesting thing. Snufkin had been toying with Moomin’s drowsiness, given it had been nearly three days since the troll’s last nap. Sometimes he spoke as if drunk, forgetting what he’d already said or going off on little tangents about completely unrelated things.

At some point Moomin had stopped talking, but Snufkin didn’t find it unusual for the troll to leave his latest rhetorical question hanging. The mumrik smiled into his mug of hot chocolate, gazing at the fire, feeling almost content for the first time since he’d realized he would have to stay the winter.

A moment later, Moomin walked over and sat beside him. Before Snufkin could look over at him and speak, the troll flopped over suddenly. His snout rested half on Snufkin’s lap, and the mumrik blinked in surprise. “Moomin?”

“Just five minutes,” was the muffled reply. Moomin was curling up, his tail sweeping across the floor to rest just shy of his nose. Snufkin felt the entire weight of his companion settle against his left side, his thigh, his knee. “Five… just five… I’ll be up in… soon…”

There would be no saving him from his fatigue; Moomin was out before Snufkin could say anything. The mumrik put his mug down a safe distance away and merely stared at his slumbering companion.

Moomin was doing so much for him, he thought. Snufkin still felt quite sick - he was weak, endlessly tired, and hardly anything brought him joy. He barely tasted his food, and sweet dreams eluded him. It felt as if the frost of winter had made its way beyond the glass of every window, sneaking in under the door and finding a place at Snufkin’s center. It reminded him, somewhat, of the Groke, on the one occasion she had visited Moomin House. Snufkin still remembered the weight of her presence, how she’d brought oppressive cold along with her. No, it was not merely that she brought the cold - she caused warmth to flee. Snufkin had shivered, had felt regret that he looked upon her. What an utterly sad, lonely thing, to be the Groke. That feeling had haunted him, and now Snufkin felt as if he was the ghost of that feeling.

And yet, he did not chase away Moomin, who remained steadfast at his side. Moomin had not fled his dull voice, his bitter glances out the window, nor the utter lack of his usual frivolity. Moomin volunteered to stay without complaint and was trying his best to keep Snufkin happy.

Snufkin put a paw on his best friend’s back, brushing gently through his fur. It was so, so soft. The two boys did not often touch. Moomin knew Snufkin disliked a lot of touching, and Snufkin… well, he never thought to do it himself, really. He was sure Moomin would never mind if he did initiate something. It seemed strange and unfair, though, to cross a barrier he’d been the one to put between them.

In secret, Snufkin took this moment to appreciate the heat of his friend’s body, pressed so closely against him. Moomin was a comforting weight on his lap, and Snufkin could feel the way he breathed, so close was he settled beside the mumrik. Before them, the fire settled into a low orange light, sending wafts of warmth over to them. Snufkin pulled the blanket close on his right, then tossed the other end over Moomin. Carefully crossing his legs and shifting so that he could lean down over the troll, Snufkin settled his arms and chin on Moomin’s back.

With a hum, he closed his eyes. Yes, now he was content. If only for a moment.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

One morning, about a month into the season, Snufkin was recounting a tale from his travels to Moomin. It was a small story, from many years ago, that he’d neglected to mention before. While Snufkin spun his yarn, Moomin shuffled about in the kitchen. Snufkin was seated at the table, watching his friend move from counter to stove to cupboard, then back to stove, then counter again. All the while he listened to Snufkin’s story and asked questions, sounding completely enthralled by the simple retelling.

It wasn’t even an exciting story, really. Snufkin had come upon a gaggle of mellowlarks, weasel-like creatures with blue feathers and long beaks. They loved to take things from travelers, bringing them to a big burrow where the family would keep a collection of stolen treasures. A few had found Snufkin’s camp and set upon divesting him of his few material goods. Of course, Snufkin had no strong attachment to any one thing, but it would have been nearly impossible to get back to Moominvalley without his fishing rod to catch food, or his canteen, or his only other pair of boots.

Moomin, who had never seen a mellowlark before, enthusiastically asked after just how good they were at hiding Snufkin’s things, and how hard did they peck exactly? Was it very difficult digging up their burrow with the whole family screeching at him? Snufkin sipped his water and answered questions as they came, watching his friend laugh at the answers as he bustled about, preparing their lunch.

Snufkin had grown to deeply admire Moomin’s determination to watch over him. The mumrik couldn’t recall when he’d last seen his best friend so focused, so keen to accomplish a task whole-heartedly. Moomin might need to rest some days, leaving Snufkin to fend for himself, but those days were mostly spent joining Moomin as he napped - or attempting to, anyway. Otherwise, Moomin was at his side, helping him get around the house, making sure he took his medicine, preparing any food that Snufkin could stomach. He’d gotten quite good at making things just bland enough for the mumrik to eat without feeling discouraged by the scent or taste.

Snufkin wondered when his friend had gotten so adept at caring. He'd always been resourceful, of course, and willing to help. As he ran about for Snufkin's benefit, though, the mumrik couldn't help but see so much of Moominmamma within him. It was in the way he constantly pressed his snout against Snufkin's forehead, hoping for a cooler temperature; it was clear in the peaceful quiet of his machinations within the kitchen, aware of all the things needing his attention. Not once did Moomin fumble a knife or leave anything on the stove for too long. Not once did he fail to open the small window curtain over the sink, to let in a bit of frosty light.

Always, Moomin had been reliable, but never had Snufkin thought to call him responsible. This wasn’t to say Snufkin was notably more mature than Moomin in any way, only that… well, Snufkin had been taking care of himself for a very long time. He knew Moomin could be resourceful and quick to come up with solutions in time of need, but he had never considered how well the troll might take care of himself if left to his own devices, or how he might care for others as his mother did.

As Snufkin mulled this over, he heard a faint sound coming from upstairs. His ear twitched toward the staircase. Moomin was busy stirring the pot of stew, humming to himself. Snufkin set aside his empty glass and said, “Moomin, I think something is moving upstairs.”

Immediately, Moomin froze. He moved the stew away from the heat so it wouldn’t burble so loudly, stopped his humming, and listened. Another creak was heard. They listened and followed the sound as it slowly made its way along the hallway upstairs. Snufkin could tell that one of Moomin’s parents had left their room, and by the soft  _thunk_ accompanying each creaking step, he could guess who it was.

“Mamma!” Moomin was already out of the kitchen, heading for the stairs. “Mamma, wait for me! I’ll help you down!”

“Oh thank you, dear,” sighed Moominmamma. Her voice was faint, heavy still with sleep. It wasn’t unusual for a moomin to wake up during their hibernation, Snufkin knew; sometimes peculier dreams spurred them awake, or they sensed something was wrong with their body. If Snufkin had to guess, Mamma’s leg was causing her a bit of trouble and she was compelled to wake up and stretch it out. 

Moomin helped his mother down the stairs, holding her on her weaker side so that she could use him and the railing to get to the bottom. Her limp was obvious, lending to Snufkin’s suspicion that it had gotten stiff from inactivity, and achy from the weather.

“No need to fuss, my love,” Mamma said to her son, patting him on the head as he helped her into the kitchen. “A bit of a stretch and it will be fine. Ah, that smells lovely - what are you making?”

“Vegetable stew,” Moomin said a little shyly. He might be confident enough to serve Snufkin his own food, but of course, nothing could beat what Mamma made. “Would you like some?”

“Yes please, I’m feeling quite peckish. You know how it is after such a long rest.”

“Of course! Here, you can sit across from Snufkin and I’ll give you both a bowl.”

While Moomin finished lunch, Snufkin and Mamma waited in peaceful silence. She’d asked after Snufkin’s condition, accepting his brief recap of the last month, then left him to his thoughts. Moomin filled in all the details, explaining Snufkin’s condition more thoroughly as he served them.

The stew was lovely, and to Snufkin’s delight he was able to get most of it down. While he ate, Moomin and his mother continued to talk on the subject of his health. Snufkin found it a little irritating, being the topic of conversation when he was right there, unable to offer any real thoughts on the matter. He’d already explained to Moomin exactly how his ailment made him feel - tired, weak, restless… out of tune with his own body. There was no need to repeat anything the troll was already telling his mother.

When he’d fished out all the best bits of carrot and was left with little more than rich liquid mush, Snufkin excused himself. He’d try to take a nap on the couch and leave the trolls to themselves.

Moomin made as if to get out of his chair to help, but Snufkin waved him off sharply. It wasn’t a far walk into the sitting room and he really did not need the assistance.

It was a comfort to worm his way back into the small pocket of blankets and pillows. Snufkin pushed himself up firmly against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. Stomach full for the first time in a good while, he felt mostly content.

However, sleep did not come.

Snufkin flirted with idea of it, coming ever so close to that comforting darkness, but his body refused. It was too focused, ears twitching after the faint sounds of Moomin and his mother discussing things in the kitchen. For a while it was too difficult to hear them over the clatter of their utensils hitting bowls, and of dishes falling into the sink, and of the sink being turned on to wash dishes. However, at some point all they had left was to dry them, and it was then Snufkin was able to hear more of their conversation.

“...to get really worried.” That was Moomin. His mother hummed brightly, in sympathy, Snufkin thought. “Nothing I do seems to help him much.”

“He seems better than when I went to sleep,” Mamma offered.

“Does he really?”

“Yes. His skin is a healthier color. Tell me again how he’s been sleeping.”

“Okay, I suppose. He’s still quite restless though. I don’t know how much he sleeps while I’m taking my long naps…”

“Yes, that’s important, too - how have you been faring my love? I hope you haven’t been too stressed taking care of dear Snufkin.”

“No, of course not!”

“Really?”

Moomin paused, and Snufkin was now actively attempting to listen in. As subtly as he could, he pushed himself up a bit so that his head rested on the arm of the couch closest to the kitchen doorway. He pushed his face into the couch, letting his ear perk up in their direction.

“It’s been… oh, I don’t know, Mamma. Sort of difficult, but fun too.”

“Fun?”

“Well of course I’m very sad that Snufkin is sick,” Moomin insisted, sounding despondent. “I wish he wouldn’t have to feel so awful. I know he hates being stuck here… I know he really wants to be out in the world, exploring and seeing all sorts of things.

“But I… I always love being around Snufkin.” Moomin said this bit very quietly, so quietly Snufkin would have missed it if he wasn’t straining to hear, and if the two trolls hadn’t seemed to cease all busywork. “I like spending time with him, even if all we do is play board games or read old stories and take naps together. It’s… comfy. So I feel bad, because Snufkin feels bad, but I don’t mind taking care of him Mamma. I wish he wouldn’t mind either.” Here came a little sniffle, and Snufkin was very confused. Why would Moomin feel sad over this? “I wish he didn’t have to be sick to… to…”

A moment of silence. Snufkin could imagine Moominmamma put a paw to her son’s head, rubbing gently at his ears. “I know, dear,” she said. “I understand.”

They finished the dishes, and Snufkin tried to understand how he felt about Moomin’s words. Before he could process it all, however, Mamma moved the topic along to something else.

“I’ve been thinking, Moomin, if you had any ideas of what might have caused Snufkin’s illness in the first place?”

“I have no idea Mamma! He was fine one day, but then… It just seemed to come up out of nowhere.”

There came the scraping sound of a chair being pulled from the table, then Mamma’s sigh as she got off her feet. “Nothing at all? He didn’t eat anything particular, or go anywhere strange?”

Moomin thought about it, then said, a little guilty, “Well… maybe a week or so before he got sick, we swam in a little spring. It was dreadfully cold…”

“Oh, you silly troll! In autumn?”

“It was only for a moment! Snufkin did it first, and invited me in.” A chuckle here. “It was very, very cold, Mamma! That was my very first thought when Snufkin seemed odd, that going in the cold water was making him ill.”

“It’s not a bad idea…”

“I’m not so sure now, though.”

“Is that so? Why not?”

“Well…” Moomin pulled a chair for himself now, then went on to say, “It’s something about the way he’s ill, Mamma. It’s as if something is… missing. Or, no, that’s not the right word… Like something is hiding?”

Moomin took a moment to sort out his thoughts, then continued, a little quietly. Snufkin was practically sitting upright now, trying to push his head out over the couch to hear.

“That’s a very interesting thought, dear. What gave you such an idea?”

“It’s only because he’s so sad,” Moomin explained. “I know that’s mostly because it’s wintertime now and Snufkin hates the snow and the cold, and he hates being sick and stuck in one place. But… I think I saw it before now, too. In autumn, he was acting strangely.”

“How so?”

Moomin hesitated. Snufkin could imagine his friend pressing his paws together, wringing them as he did when he was nervous. It was a childish tick he’d had ever since they’d met. “I, um… I don’t really know how to say it, Mamma. Only that he was different. It was as if… as if springtime was meant to come, but it never quite did, really, and you could feel it in the air. Does that make sense?”

Snufkin thought it certainly didn’t make any sense at all, but Moominmamma hummed knowingly. She said, “I think I have some idea of what you mean, Moomintroll. Tell me, have you ever heard of ‘sickness of the spirit’?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“In your Grandmoomin’s special book of household remedies, there’s a chapter which speaks of it. It is said that sometimes, if a creature is very afraid or sad, but cannot seek or ask for help, their spirit grows weary. It can happen, too, if a creature convinces themself of a lie and refuses to understand the truth of something. It’s okay to have a secret - everyone can have at least one, as I’ve always said, as I see that’s only fair. But to tell yourself a lie, even when you suspect it to be untrue… well, that’s not a very good thing to keep inside of yourself.

“A creature with a weak or ailing spirit might slowly lose themself… They become lethargic or act against their own nature. It can even look like a normal, physical sickness.”

“You think that’s what’s happening to Snufkin?” Moomin exclaimed, sounding distressed. Moominmamma gently hushed him, afraid his volume would wake up the mumrik, whom they still thought to be asleep. Lowering his voice, Moomin said, “But Snufkin has never seemed very sad or afraid of anything, Mamma. Do you really think that could be it?”

“It’s just a thought, dear. I’ve never seen it happen myself…” Here, the troll let out a yawn. “I could always be remembering it wrong, too…”

“Mamma, you’re looking worn out. Let me take you back up to bed.”

“Yes, I think I’m ready to sleep again. Thank you so much, Moomintroll. The food was delicious.”

“I just followed your recipe!”

“Maybe, once our hibernation is over, I can teach you…”

Their voices faded as they climbed up the stairs, conversation overwritten by the heavy creaking of wood under their feet. Snufkin buried himself into the couch cushions and mulled over he’d heard.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

Two days later, when Moomin had unwillingly slipped into a deep nap, Snufkin went alone into the kitchen. He’d been eating better lately, but his body was still frail, and he found the door leading into the moomins’ celler heavier than he remembered. Still, he managed to open it, and climbed down into the dark room.

Here, underground, it was slightly warmer. Snufkin draped the blanket he’d carried about on his shoulders atop a rung of the ladder. He walked immediately over to the far corner where Moominmamma kept her spices, recipes, and cookbooks. There, nestled on the shelf among the others, was a thin red book with well-worn edges. Snufkin hopped onto the stool so he could reach it.

Snufkin remembered that Moominmamma had used a remedy from this book to help cure Ninny’s invisibility. From what she’s said to her son the other day, it sounded like the book had entries on all sorts of strange ailments. Snufkin wondered - and hoped - that it might have a hint as to what was causing him to be so sick. Perhaps there would even be a cure he could make?

Sitting on the stool, Snufkin opened the book. It was dark in the cellar, but his eyes were made for it, and so he had no trouble reading the hand-written pages. He skimmed over each page, looking for the words Moominmamma had mentioned before. Eventually he found an entry near the back of the book which said:

 

_**What To Try When Someone Is Weak In Body And Of Spirit** _

 

_In this big and beautiful world there are all sorts of people and all sorts of things which can cause them to fall ill, but it is important to know and remember that they themselves are not excluded from this list. Just as we can and will harm others, on purpose or due to carelessness or accident, we can hurt ourselves._

 

_Some ailments are very difficult to understand but many can be prescribed a useful remedy based on how they damage us. When confronted with a loved one who suffers seemingly for no reason, or acts outside of their nature, prone to unease or melancholy, and when usual remedies such as cold medicines or healthy foods or time or rest do not work to soothe and heal, this might mean it is a case of an unwell mind, body, and spirit._

 

_As I have observed in my many years, a sickness of the spirit is often shown in the body. The ill or weary body is a manifestation of a creature's innermost truth, not unlike the sickness of grief, to which many a widow has been lost. When a soul feels so deeply a tumultuous emotion and those emotions are trapped or given no care, they express themselves in the most literal of ways. It is the will of that soul to have itself be seen, acknowledged, understood, and in result cared for._

 

Snufkin paused here, tail thrashing against the legs of his stool as he thought over what the book was saying. If he was to understand this text correctly, did that mean he was causing this on his own? Did his ailment have nothing to do with swimming in cold water or catching a stomach bug, but rather the 'will' of his soul acting against the desires of his mind and body?

The mumrik grit his teeth. He put the book down for a moment, unwilling to tear at the paper and ruin something precious of Moominmamma’s, but unable to quell his growing indignance. What a ridiculous idea! As if he was the one who wanted to be sick! Snufkin’s heart and mind and body were always in agreement, and the idea that one might cause the other pain was almost comical. It would be funnier if it he wasn’t suffering.

Hopping off the stool, Snufkin quickly grabbed his blanket and climbed back upstairs, leaving the book behind. He absolutely refused to even consider the suggested remedies, for he determined they would do him no good. He had no sickness of the spirit, he was not harming himself, and there was no secret in his heart which needed to be seen, acknowledged, understood, or cared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A small note here:**
> 
> The nature of Snufkin's illness is theorized in this chapter, and I want to make it clear I'm not really basing it on anything real (at least not any ONE thing). It works more similarly to the way invisibility does within the Moomin universe - a literal/physical representation of a character's state of mind, feelings, etc. You can call it magic, or you can call it convenient for the plot, but however you want to see it, I just want to make it clear I'm not going off anything real with the 'sickness of the spirit' stuff. If you see similarities between the descriptions given and some real life stuff, that's fine though! In fact it'd be interested in hearing yall's interpretations of it.
> 
> What's going on with Snufkin is slightly different to Moomin's anxiety. Of course the main thing being that, while the characters don't explicitly use the term 'anxiety attack' when talking about Moomin's episodes, we the audience do know that's what they are. I don't imagine the folks here have the exact terminology for things we might, and so ideas and concepts are described somewhat abstractly. Despite that, I'm trying to have Moomin's problems be more reflective of real-world things. 
> 
> I'd also like to say that while I'm pretty sure I've had an anxiety attack at least once or twice before, they happened when I was much younger and don't occur chronically for me as they do Moomin. I have some resources I'm going off of for the depiction here, but you can take them with a grain of salt; I apologize for anything that seems inaccurate, and please feel free to tell me your thoughts if there are ways I might fix the way it's shown.
> 
> Again, thank you very much for reading! I look forward to any of your comments~ They mean so much to me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Once again, thanks so much for your comments on the last chapter! It got a really interesting response, and I really enjoyed reading everyone's perspective on the subjects brought up last time. 
> 
> For this chapter, I just want to offer a couple warnings; I don't think the topics are relevant enough throughout the fic to warrant proper tagging, but if yall disagree and think they should be added, just let me know!
> 
> [b]So, CW:[/b] in this chapter, Snufkin is definitely having a rough time. Some of his behaviors/symptoms might be seen as him being in a very deep depressive episode, and there's a scene in which it could be argued he's suffering a bout of suicidal ideation. It's very brief, about a paragraph or two long, and written in abstract language, but I just wanted to offer a heads-up in case anyone might have an issue reading something like that. If you'd like to skip it, fast-forward when Snufkin's about to go outside until you hit the snowflakes. 
> 
> Oh, also, Moomin suffers a full anxiety attack in this chapter, but that scene is very important, so I would recommend you don't skip it. Just wanted to offer the notice, though! 
> 
> That's all! This chapter is a bit rough for both our boys, but I promise things will get better for them soon. Please enjoy!

**Part 2: Tracks in Snow Will Lead You Home**

* * *

  

_Chapter 5_

At night, the darkness seemed absolute. **  
**

Snufkin kept the curtains drawn for fear of it. Somehow every star had gone, hidden by those stormy clouds he couldn't see, and the moon was cold. How could this endless swath of snow play with the light so covetously? It transformed every inch of Moominvalley into some bleak mimic of an ocean. Those gently rolling hills were now smooth and ominous waves, unnatural in their stillness, yet somehow Snufkin could see himself so clearly being swallowed up by them.

Or perhaps it was only so in his nightmares.

They came frequently now. As he and Moomin approached the full depth of winter, Snufkin's nights were plagued with them. He could not rest asleep or awake. When he dreamed, it was someplace so dark that he never retained anything, not a thing beyond the sense of his own despair. Snufkin wished he could recall the sights he saw in his mind, for somehow only feeling the impressions of them upon his heart was worse than actually experiencing them.

In the daytime, perhaps he could forget. Moomin was so kind and warm to him. The fireplace remained aglow at all hours. The food - what Snufkin could stomach - was good. They played little games and told each other stories. But now, if Moomin napped a day or two, Snufkin did not join him. He would merely lay against his friend and stare at nothing, and try to let his mind wander and find comfort in unfocused consciousness.

Never in his life had he felt so helpless. Snufkin wondered if this is what it meant to fade.

He was so afraid of the emptiness growing inside, of the absolute absence of his wonder, the irresistible weight of apathy, that Snufkin decided to cling to the first strong emotion he could find. It flared up one morning during breakfast, when Moomin was preparing him a bowl of oatmeal and chattering on about an old story involving Sniff. In Snufkin's heart was a small but very real flicker of something, and the mumrik clutched at his chest, trying to hold it. He focused so hard on the feeling, wanting to keep it, to let it fill him up with something,  _anything._  He let it shorten his breath; he let it quicken the beat of his heart; he let it burn like a fire in a dense, dry wood. Snufkin cared for and stoked the feeling until it grew strong, so focused that Moomin's voice had become a distant murmur, a shapeless, droning thing.

Snufkin was annoyed.

“I'm not hungry.”

Moomin, who had been going on still with his tale, paused. He cast a worried look across the table, and the feeling in Snufkin flared hotter, and he let it. “But Snufkin, you've barely touched it-”

“I don't want it.”

“You really should eat, if you can.”

The mumrik glared down at his bowl. He pushed it away with one quick, curt movement. “I don't want it.”

Moomin stared, only a little surprised at the behavior. His friend hadn't been himself for most of the season, and it was fair for him to be reluctant or upset, the troll supposed. He sighed but didn't insist on anything more, merely turned back to his own breakfast.

The discordant cry of Snufkin's chair against the floor was sharp and loud as he pushed away from the table. Slipping onto the floor he immediately headed for the leftmost doorway.

“Snufkin?”

“I'm going to the restroom,” Snufkin said blankly.

Behind him, he heard Moomin's own chair scuff the kitchen floor. “W-wait, let me-”

“I can go on my own!” he snapped. “I don't need you following me everywhere.” Snufkin refused to look at Moomin's face, knowing it would be easier to keep the burning safe in his chest if he did not. When Moomin made no verbal protest, he hurried out of the room.

Snufkin quickly opened and slammed the restroom door, then doubled back to the stairs, moving up the steps as silently as possible. Climbing them left him winded, and Snufkin felt almost dizzy and sick with delight as the frustration fed into his anger. For the first time in days, he felt real. His body was warmer with the pace of his heart. He allowed his thoughts to circle and collide and sink into each other, irritation lacing each, until they all melted together into a single new thought and desire. The very idea encouraged Snufkin, made him feel almost like his old self, and so he made his way into Moomin's bedroom.

The window had no curtains, and so white light spilled into the small room. It smelled distantly of Moomin, who hadn't been sleeping in here for at least a month now. The smell irked Snufkin. He went briskly to the window and unlocked it, throwing it open without hesitation.

The winter air pierced him, threatening to dampen the heat in his body. The mumrik refused to let the biting breeze snuff out his fire, for it boiled his blood and animated him and he felt it was all he had. Checking under Moomin's bed, he found and retrieved the homemade ladder his friend often used. Snufkin secured one end before casting the rest outside.

Snufkin began to shiver the second he climbed onto the sill, but he didn't pause or stop. He gripped the wooden rungs of the ladder tightly. With one hand he closed the window behind him - mostly. A small gap was left open before he climbed down.

Snufkin stepped into the section of roof over the veranda. It was sloped, but the snow was deep enough to catch Snufkin's feet and hold him steady. It was absolutely freezing, for he didn't have his boots on. The mumrik ignored it and stubbornly made his way up to the ridge. Throwing one leg over, he sat down stop the snow there, safe from falling one way or the other.

Every inch of Snufkin's exposed skin seethed against the cold air, but the heat of his anger and satisfaction kept him warm. He looked out over the valley, the ocean of white. Thin strings of morning sunlight slipped past breaks in the clouds, dotting the snow here and there, making it glitter. Far away, the Lonely Mountain's dark form stood proudly against its pale backdrop. There was no song; no singing birds, no rustling leaves, no burbling water. Even the wind was without voice.

What an awful time, Snufkin thought balefully, what a desolate place. And yet even now, somehow, something within himself echoed all he saw. He was alone, just as he had wanted.

The tears froze to his lashes before they had a chance to fall.

He did not climb back inside for a long while. Too long, perhaps. Snufkin wondered how long it would take to be swallowed by snow. If the clouds opened up and their snowflakes fell on his skin and cloak and hat and cheeks, could he be buried? Could he become a part of the blank, endless white? Would he be as the frozen pond, still, with hidden life just beneath? Would he be as the branches, weighed down, burdened, overburdened, tense until they snapped and fell?

Snufkin could see each and every breath, that last remaining show of resistance. His warm breath, the evidence of him. It sprang as if from nothing, a pale mist, or dragon smoke. Then it broke apart and disappeared and was gone, as if it had never been.

He heard a voice.

Snufkin closed his eyes. For a moment, he ignored the call. But then the burning was back, and he was no longer alone in the snow. Briefly, he considered swearing aloud, but instead he merely called back, “I'm out here!”

The  _thump thump thump_  of feet running, getting louder, until the window above Snufkin's head snapped fully open. Moomin's snout, white as the snow, slipped out and turned toward Snufkin.

“What on earth are you doing!?” Moomin demanded, breathless with utter disbelief. “Snufkin, get back in here now!”

He burned. As Snufkin stood, he felt more hollow than a bird's bones, fragile. Touching the wooden rungs of the ladder was like touching nothing at all. Moomin had to reach out and grip the shoulders of his coat to pull him up the rest of the way and back in through the window.

Snufkin couldn't stop shivering, and his teeth chattered, but he folded his arms and made himself stay on his feet and refused to run to the fire. He made himself walk calmly from the room.

“What? Now just you wait-” The loud  _shudder-bam_  of Moomin's window being slammed shut and locked flew accusingly after Snufkin.

Moomin stepped out from his room and stared at Snufkin, who had already started down the stairs. “What was that? Why would you-”

“I wanted to be alone,” Snufkin said, voice unkind. He noisily descended, ignoring Moomin's squeak and footsteps following close behind.

“It was foolish of you to go outside like that!” Moomin scolded.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Moomin actually snorted as they entered the sitting room. The troll caught up to Snufkin and, not roughly but still firmly, grabbed hold of the mumrik’s paws. The fur on his fingertips was stiff with frost, actually sparkling in the fire’s light with it. Snufkin hadn’t realized just how numb and cold his hands were. Now that Moomin had brought his attention to it, Snufkin realized his tail, ears, and nose felt similarly.

“You’ve been frost-nipped,” Moomin grumbled, frustration and confusion evident in his voice. Snufkin thought he should feel shamefaced, but his irritation only grew as Moomin took his paws and tried to hold them in his own, large white softness overwhelming cold, numb brown.

His hands prickled in the face of warmth, stinging. Snufkin hissed and jerked his paws away. “That hurts!”

“It only hurts because you’re so cold,” Moomin snapped. “You have to warm yourself up, Snufkin! Really, what in world possessed you to go out like this? You could’ve gotten frostbite proper-”

“How else was I supposed to get you off my tail?” Snufkin asked spitefully. “Like I said: I wanted to be.  _Alone.”_

Moomin froze, still as the snowscape he’d observed outside. The troll stared at Snufkin with wide, dark-blue eyes. The low fire offered little warmth, and cast strange shadows across Moomin’s face. Stubbornly, Snufkin said nothing else, only going over to the couch to bury himself in his usual nest of blankets.

He didn’t watch as Moomin replaced the firewood, setting it up to feed for at least another few hours. Snufkin did nothing to fill in the silence, choosing to believe the warm hum and soft pops from the fire were noise enough.

Then Moomin said, “I’m going to my room.”

Snufkin’s jerked to look at him, too surprised to brood. “What?”

“I’m tired,” said the troll. He was turned away from Snufkin. His tail was absolutely still, though Snufkin could tell his friend was rubbing his paws together. “I’m going to go to bed for a while. I need… I’m just tired, Snufkin.”

“You… you don’t have to,” Snufkin said, his voice very weak.

Moomin said nothing else. He spared one last look at the fire, perhaps to check and make sure it would stay warm downstairs, then he left the room. Snufkin stayed there on the couch, in his blankets. He did not sleep at all, and his hands remained numb.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

Snufkin stared with sharp eyes at the garden. It was absolutely overflowing with delicious vegetables - carrots, lettuce, radishes and cabbage. As Snufkin snuck amidst the leafy greens and gathered them up, he used his long ears to listen for trouble.

For hours, Snufkin ate what he found and dozed, hidden in thick vegetation. He napped in the sunlight and ate to his heart's delight. He knocked down fence posts just for the fun of it, and dug up the earth out of spite for the Garden Keeper, who selfishly hoarded his bounty; did he not know the truth of it? That which the Earth bore belonged to all her children.

Suddenly there came a sound. The Garden Keeper! He stormed out from his little hut just as Snufkin had set upon a melon. The hemulen cursed at him. “Foul rabbit!” he cried, and tried to chase Snufkin.

Snufkin laughed at the Garden Keeper and rolled the melon away. Below him, the ground shook. He grinned, for it was midsummer and Snufkin had known to lay a trap for the Garden Keeper. He hopped atop the rolling melon, running backwards upon it so he could watch as Hattifatteners burst up from the soil! They grew tall as trees, hoisting the Garden Keeper clear off the ground. He kicked and yelped like a dog but he could do no more than that. Snufkin laughed and laughed and rolled away.

As he went along, Snufkin came upon a boat on the bank of the stream. It must belong to the Garden Keeper, he thought. How perfect for a getaway! He rolled the melon over and then put it in the boat. With his sharp teeth, Snufkin gnawed through the rope tying the boat to shore, and soon he was off.

Going down the stream, Snufkin spent his day singing songs of the bested Garden Keeper, so that all the animals who heard him knew that the hemulen was easily tricked and would think him a fool, and be tempted to tease him. The rabbit danced and ate his melon and slept, perfectly content.

Soon, the stream ended. It fed into a large lake. Snufkin leaned over to drink some of the water, and found it to be icy. It was so dark he could see nothing under the surface. Above him, the night sky twinkled with beautiful stars, but still the water was smooth and black and empty.

There was no longer a shore. Snufkin stood on his hind legs and looked out across the water, but there was naught to see but mist. It hovered just above the water, as if afraid to touch. Snufkin floated into the mist and soon he couldn't see anything at all.

The boat jolted. A Snufkin cried out. In the mist he saw something; a shadowy shape, a cruel mockery of his own form. It was a dark reflection. Snufkin was full of such a terror that he thought he might go mad. Then a wave came and the boat turned over and he was thrown into the water and he sank like a stone.

Snufkin fought. He flailed and kicked. He clawed at the water as if it was an enemy he could tear apart. He tossed his head about in search of something - anything - to show him where to go. If he could not find the surface, he would- he would-

There! A glimmer of light! It had to be the moon upon the water, shimmering to guide him back up! Snufkin swam toward it. He drew closer. It flashed silver. He stretched out, lungs aching for air.

There was no air. The silver caught him by the neck and Snufkin gasped. He thrashed about but it was too late. The snare cut into his fur, biting into his throat as the weasel would, and then a force pulled him through the water. Snufkin choked and he knew he would die.

He was pulled out of the water. Snufkin tried to breath but he was breathless at the sight of a white paw holding the other end of his snare.

“Wow! I've caught a dragon!” Moomin cried out in delight. Reaching over, he picked up a jar of water. Moomin dropped Snufkin into the jar. The water was murky and he couldn't see through it or the glass, which distorted everything.

 _No!_ he tried to scream.  _Moomin, it's me!_

“Mamma! Come look, I've caught a dragon!”

_It's me, Snufkin! You've got to let me out! Please!_

They were moving, running. The world was shaking. Snufkin knew nothing, feeling less than real, feeling like nothing at all. Through the murk and glass, Moomin's body was a shimmering white expanse, and he could not recognize his friend.

“Mamma! Mamma?”

The world grew still.

“Mamma…?”

Moomin's voice made Snufkin's blood run cold. He couldn't see- he couldn't see-

“MAMMA!”

Moomin dropped the jar, and everything broke apart.

* * *

Snufkin fell off the couch with a cry. The blankets had become all twisted from the restless flailing of his limbs while he slept, and the feeling of restriction made him panic further. Snufkin shouted and grit his teeth and fought against the fabric until his arms were freed.

“Snufkin! Snufkin, calm down! It was just another nightmare…”

Pressure squeezed on the mumrik’s throat as he turned to face Moomin. The troll, who had been settled on the floor closer to the fireplace, was approaching him. A cold terror cut through Snufkin’s heart; he shouted again, hoarsely, and kicked away from Moomin. “N-no!”

“What’s wrong?” Moomin asked. Still he came closer, and Snufkin turned tail to crawl across the floor. There was a space between the couch and the wall with the window, a gap just large enough for Snufkin to dive into. The back of the couch was nearly flush with the other wall, but he could squeeze out the other side if he wanted. Moomin couldn’t reach him without following or moving the couch. Snufkin put himself in the corner and curled up defensively, staring with wide eyes at the troll, who had gotten onto his knees on the floor to stare after his friend.

Moomin was silent for a moment, merely watching with a deep look of concern on his face. There was something else too, but Snufkin’s mind was too frayed to understand it. He was caught in the grip of fear; it reminded him of the very beginning, when he’d first realized he might have to stay in the valley for winter. He’d been right to be afraid, then.

“It was just a bad dream,” Moomin said. His voice was very soft and quiet. He sunk onto the floor, resting on his stomach and propping his shout up on his folded arms. He closed his eyes so he wasn’t staring at Snufkin, though he continued to speak. “You’re okay now, Snufkin. You’re safe. I won’t let anything harm you. Won’t you come out of there?”

“N-no,” Snufkin croaked instantly. The very thought of coming any closer to Moomin made his whole body tense up. He could only think about the dream, the first dream he’d had all season which stuck to his mind with such clarity. He remembered seeing that soft white hand holding a silver line of snare.

“Okay,” Moomin said, and he sounded sad, but he left Snufkin be. Eventually he got up and shuffled away until Snufkin couldn’t see or hear him. Snufkin remained where he was for quite some time.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

In the days following, Snufkin’s condition took such a harsh nosedive that even Moomin looked as if he might despair. The mumrik outright refused to sleep, and only fell to exhaustion. His newly persistent fever produced horrible, confusing dreams. Each time he awoke feeling more worn than when he’d slipped away, shivering with a pure fear of the unknown.

He refused to eat. He refused to do much of anything, and barely responded to Moomin’s attempts at conversation or play. The troll had been determined at first, but after a week of this, resigned to reading more books and hoping that Snufkin listened.

Moomin desperately wanted to comfort his friend, to reach out and hold his paw, to stroke his hair, to gently touch the shadows under his eyes as if to wipe them away. But lately, somehow, he got the sense Snufkin absolutely wouldn't allow it. Moomin couldn’t forget the memory of his friend, curled up in the corner, his entire body pressed as far as it possibly could away from the white troll. He had seen such a wild look in Snufkin’s eyes that night. His fear had been real, and he had been staring right at Moomin, and he had refused to come out until Moomin had gone.

Inch by inch, Snufkin seemed to come back into himself. He still wouldn’t eat anything Moomin made for him, but sometimes Moomin was woken up at night by the sound of Snufkin rummaging through their pantry. For the first time in days, Snufkin seemed to actively listen when Moomin read them a story. Gradually, he began responding to Moomin’s idle questions, and once they’d even managed a short conversation before the mumrik’s voice faltered and he became morose and silent as night fell.

One afternoon, after a refreshing two-day nap on Moomin’s part, the troll determined to bring back his friend’s good spirits. He spent lunch reminiscing about all his favorite stories Snufkin had ever told him. He talked about the last year, how wonderful springtime had been and what fun they’d had in summer. As the two of them sat warm by the fire, Moomin put in more wood as he thought up wild places for Snufkin to explore once he was better. Here, Snufkin finally began to respond a bit, telling Moomin what his plans had been before he got sick.

“I’d been hoping to travel west this time,” he told Moomin. He stared into the fire as he spoke. Lately, the mumrik seemed reluctant to look at Moomin. The young man’s cheeks were sallow, the bags under his eyes approaching dark purple, yet as he spoke of his trip the fire’s light did not dance alone in his brown eyes. “There’s a range of mountains there, very far off, and they say all sorts of wild things grow there, and interesting creatures. I was going to spend most of my time there.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Moomin said earnestly. He tilted his head up and sighed, daydreaming. “Maybe it would be like the jungle we grew in the yard.”

“Perhaps so. I’ve heard little fae things live there.”

“Oh, you better be careful when you go then, Snufkin!”

For the first time in a while, Snufkin smiled. “Yes… It will be nice to go, at last.”

Moomin’s tail flopped against the floor. The tuff flicked twice. He tried to appreciate the heat from their fire, but couldn’t help himself as he said, “Snufkin, I can’t help but wonder - when you’re all better, did you plan to leave as soon as you could, even if it’s springtime? Or… do you think you’ll stay another year, until next winter?”

Snufkin looked genuinely surprised at the question, and Moomin figured he hadn’t thought of it. The mumrik paused to mull it over, blinking once, slowly. “Well. If I do get better by spring, I’d say yes, I would probably leave then. I’ve already been here for much too long, haven’t I? I couldn’t imagine staying until the next winter.”

Before he could help it, Moomin found himself asking, “Would it really be so awful to stay with us…?”

Snufkin froze. Moomin knew why the comment might irritate his friend - in truth, he understood Snufkin’s choice to leave as soon as he could. But when the mumrik twisted around, when he finally turned to look at Moomin, his expression was stormy-dark and angry.

“I knew it!” Snufkin pushed himself away from Moomin, tail thrashing. “You- you  _want_ me to say! You _like_ that I can’t leave!”

Immediately, he saw a look of regret cross Moomin’s face, but in Snufkin’s eyes it spoke only of his guilt at the truth. “What? No, no, of course not!”

“You always hate it when I leave for the winter!”

“I- Well, yes...” Moomin said feebly. He rubbed his paws together, head bowed. “Of course I miss you, Snufkin. How could I not? B-but that’s just because I miss you so much! I don’t want you to-”

“I heard you and Moominmamma talking about me,” Snufkin said. He hadn’t meant to admit to eavesdropping, really, but it was out before he could help it. “You thought I was asleep, but I heard everything you said.”

Here, Moomin flushed, seeming very surprised and guilty indeed. Snufkin got to his feet, little claws digging into the soft flesh of his palm as he seethed. “You both think I have that… ‘sickness of the spirit’. It's prosperous!”

Moomin looked taken aback. “The… oh! Well, I don’t know, Snufkin! It was just a thought… You have to admit, your illness has been very strange,” he argued. The troll got to his feet, and Snufkin took another step back. He could see hurt on Moomin’s face, but was too angry to care. “Snufkin, please don’t be cross with us. It’s just.... Well, what else could it possibly be?”

“It’s not  _me!”_  Snufkin cried. “I am not making myself sick! I don’t want to be sick! Do you really think I  _want_ this?”

“No! I just-”

“Maybe  _you_  want it, but I don’t,” he snarled. Snufkin paused, then looked Moomin right in the eyes. He thought of a shimmering silver light, and how it had filled him with hope. Then the darkness of his nightmare had consumed him when he realized that light was nothing more than lie, and he had been tricked. “Maybe it’s you, Moomin. Maybe  _you’re_  what’s making me sick.”

For a moment, all he saw was Moomin. He saw the troll in his entirety, standing before him, wide-eyed and still as the snowy landscape outside. As they’d argued, the night had crept up upon them, and the room was dark beyond the fireplace. One side of Moomin was bathed in that warm light, warming his bright fur, catching in his blue eyes so that they swirled with yellow and orange. It made Snufkin think of the ocean at sunset, of the sky bleeding into the sea, and he thought he could smell the brine and sand and feel the wind in his heart. Moomin’s other side was cast in cool shadow, his profile clear against the darkness of the room, yet still a part of it. Snufkin had explored castles before, empty husks left abandoned or destroyed by nature; Moomin seemed like the statues he might find there, standing eternally frozen in time, left behind, alone. His blue eye was dark like the secret spring they shared, the place where they swam together, where they had laughed and sung together, and as the moonlight cast that ethereal shifting glow upon its surface, so too did Moomin’s tears.

All at once, Snufkin’s anger left him. Moomin drew a deep, shuddering breath, and Snufkin fully realized his mistake the second before his dearest friend in the entire world began to cry.

Moomin wept like a child. His paws were fisted against his eyes, and he wailed with hurt, choking on his sorrow and gasping and trembling. “I’m sorry!” he cried out between sobs. “I’m s-s-sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Snufkin’s heart beat so dreadfully hard in his chest he thought it might burst. It would be just as much as he deserved, he thought. Desperate, he reached out for Moomin. “No! No, I- I didn't mean it, I swear! Moomin-”

It was then he noticed just how much Moomin was choking, just how hard he was trying to breathe. Moomin coughed and shook, falling to his knees. Snufkin knelt before him and took his friend's snout in his paws. “Moomin? Can you breathe?”

“I- I- I'm s-so-” Another round of coughs and gasping. The troll had begun to curl up, pulling away from Snufkin.

He stubbornly kept hold of Moomin. “Moomin, dearest, you're having an attack. Listen to me; please? You have to follow my breaths.” Without looking away from his face, Snufkin reached out to take one trembling paw and pull it to his chest. “Deep breaths, okay? Can you do that for me, dove?”

“D-deep-”

“Shhh, no talking just yet. Now, in; out. Slowly now, it's okay. Feel how I'm doing it and copy me. In, out…. In…”

They breathed together for a few minutes, in and out until Moomin had stopped choking. Yet still he wept, making pitifully sad noises and sniffling. Every now and then he would try to mutter another apology; Snufkin gently hushed him. The mumrik held Moomin's paws, rubbing them with his thumbs.

He remembered then what Too-Ticky had said about asking Moomin to tell a story. Snufkin tried desperately to think of something, but found he had only one story he wanted Moomin to tell. Perhaps it wasn't the best topic to bring up in that moment, but Snufkin realized the asking was long overdue. Whatever this was - these attacks - they were hurting Moomin, and had been all year. Snufkin was disappointed in himself at his inability to realize just how much his friend had been struggling. Shame nearly kept him silent, but Snufkin forced himself to speak. “Moomin… what happened last winter? Can you please tell me?”

This brought on another shuddering gasp and heavy sobs, and Snufkin worried he'd made the exact wrong choice. But Moomin fought to catch his breath again, and after rubbing at his eyes he looked back at Snufkin. “B-but you alr-r-ready kn-know…”

“Not nearly all. I only know that poor Moominmamma fell and hurt herself. But… well, you never really… had a chance to tell me exactly what happened. Could you please? I feel it's dreadfully important… I want to understand.”

Moomin's breaths were still too shallow, too quick. But his eyes, though soft and red with tears, shone brightly. He wiped a few fresh ones away before he tried at last to speak.

“I was… I w-was asleep. Then I woke up, because it was- it was cold. All the firewood had run out and needed to be replaced. Usually… Usually Pappa will get up to do it. Or Mamma, sometimes. So I just waited and tried to sleep until it got warm again…”

His breath caught here, but he struggled to continue.

“And I went back to sleep but woke up not too long after, and it had gotten even colder. So I waited and waited but it wouldn't warm up. So… I f-finally got out of bed and… and I went to… a-and I saw-”

Moomin sobbed again. Snufkin moved, crawling to sit beside his friend. After just a second of hesitation, he put a paw to Moomin's back and drew gentle circles. He could feel every breath Moomin took, every tremor in his body. Snufkin tried to soothe them away, waiting to listen.

“Mamma… She was at the bottom- the bottom of the stairs. Just lying there. On her back. I saw- I thought I saw-”

Moomin paused and rubbed at his face. Hidden from view, he whispered, “Mamma said she had bitten her tongue very badly when she fell, but when I saw… It was… I had thought, j-just for a moment, I really thought she was-”

“Oh, Moomin.”

“And I couldn't do anything,” he whispered. His voice was laden thick with shame. “I just stood there. I called out to her, but she didn't… And I- I  _wanted_  to go to her! I was so afraid; my body froze up and I couldn't- do- anything!”

Snufkin let him cry. His voice had grown steadier since they'd started, but there would be no stopping the tears, and Snufkin could see he needed to let them out. He rubbed Moomin's back and waited, gently cooing nonsense words into the troll's shoulder until he calmed down again.

“I yelled out for Pappa. I yelled and yelled until he finally got up and came. He took one look at Mamma and ran down the stairs - I'd never seen him move so fast in my entire life.”

“And it was okay?” Snufkin offered. Of course they both knew the end of this story. Mamma had been hurt, but now she was alright. Or rather, Snufkin had believed that was the end of it.

“She was hurt… but… she was okay. She wasn't… Well. We helped her splint her leg and it was still too cold and there was too much snow, so we couldn't take her anywhere. Pappa helped put her back to bed. And I went back to my bed. But I couldn't sleep. I just couldn't. I kept thinking- and I couldn't stop-”

“Moomin, I'm sorry.”

“I went to see Snorkmaiden,” Moomin said, his voice very small. “I wanted to talk to- but I had to talk to someone, and she was close enough, but when I got there I felt so _bad_  and everything felt _wrong_ , and it still feels wrong! I hate it! I hate it, Snufkin, and it's all my fault!”

“What?”

“Nothing feels the same,” Moomin said, with a resigned, sorrowful voice. “Not the spring. Not the flowers or the clouds. Not the valley. Not… not even me.”

Snufkin's eyes widened. He sat next to Moomin in silence, both thinking their own thoughts.

One time, Snufkin's father Joxter had explained why he'd chosen to settle down in Moominvalley. He'd said, “The greatest thing about this place is how nothing moves. Every day, every season, every year, it's the same. The people never change and the fruit is always delicious.”

Upon hearing it, Snufkin had found he’d understood what Joxter meant, and even agreed. It was in truth what he liked most about Moominvalley - that he could always return, and everything would be just as he'd left it. No matter how much the rest of the world changed, Moomin and this idyllic place would always be around, unbothered and untarnished.

But things hadn't been the same when Snufkin came back this time, and he realized now it wasn't just Moominmamma's leg. No, he'd heard the change in the wind before he'd even seen Mamma or Moomin or the valley. He'd heard it in that unfamiliar, somber tune, the one played by his own harmonica.

Snufkin had always insisted he leave every winter because, deep down, he understood the ways he could never belong. There would never be a time when being like the folks in Moomimvalley could make him happy. He was not like them, different in his very nature. Yet somehow, he'd forgotten that nature  _was_  change.

And it was so evident now that Moomin had been changed.

Snufkin finally understood, and knew that this feeling in his heart was a guilt dissimilar to that which he’d been feeling prior. He still regretted making Moomin cry and felt bad about his behavior, but this new feeling was altogether more relevant and consuming. It was purer, somehow. Snufkin’s heart swelled with it, so full he thought it must be holding the ocean. He and Moomin were lost in that great body, the sea churning dark and cold about them. It pushed at their lonely boat, and there was no map here, and there was no sight of land. But at least they had the stars, and they still had each other.

Snufkin held Moomin as closely as he dared, gently rubbing his paw against the fur of his friend’s back. “Oh, my dove. I’m so, so sorry.”

After another moment’s silence, Snufkin softly asked, “Is this why you asked to come along this year?”

Moomin, who seemed to have finally settled down, bellowed a sigh clearly tinged with embarrassment. “I know I shouldn’t have- I know! I’m sorry! I just- It’s just that… Ever since what happened… P-part of the reason I kept getting so, uh, upset, and scared. After it happened, I couldn’t stop… thinking.”

“Thinking of what?”

“Of… I just. I know you’re very capable, Snufkin; of course you are, and you’ve been on your own since you were very little, and you’ve never had any trouble traveling or camping or meeting new people or going to unfamiliar places. You’re… brave, and clever, and terribly resourceful. You’ve always been…” Moomin sniffled, rubbing the fur of his snout, as if to tidy himself up. He was decidedly ruffled, to be sure, the thick winter coat a patchwork of restless swirls. Snufkin left Moomin to his nervous grooming, thankful his penchant for fishing had given instilled in him an endless amount of patience.

Finally Moomin said, very quietly, “I couldn’t stop thinking. About you… out there. And what if you got hurt? I couldn’t sleep, because I kept imagining that something might happen to you, that you- you might f-fall, or something else, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything. Anything. I wouldn’t even know.”

“Ah.”

Snufkin nearly trembled. It was his own fear reflecting back, if slightly different. Never once had Snufkin really worried anything might happen to Moomin while he was away - Moominvalley was so very safe, and there would always be so many people around to help Moomin if he needed it. But there it was, the awareness of Moomin’s yearning for him. It used to unsettle Snufkin much more those first few years they knew each other. Gradually, he’d grown to accept it, though he couldn’t quite understand it. Now, though, in the aftermath of Moomin’s retelling of his mother’s incident, Snufkin thought he could begin to understand it.

“Moomin… You care so very much about me, don’t you?”

“I…” The troll blushed slightly at this. He tilted his head away just a tad, ears flopping toward the fire, tail-tuft twitching. “Of course I do.”

“You know I…”

The words were there, he could feel them at the back of his throat. All at once, Snufkin could feel  _everything_  inside him - the exhaustion, the hunger, the sorrow, the want. The want. He trembled. He put a hand to his chest and was amazed at just how fast his heart could run.

“I… I’ve hurt you very much, haven’t I?”

Moomin looked at him, clearly distraught. “What? No! W-well… Snufkin, no, I just-”

“Moomin, please. I know I have,” Snufkin said, restless. “I’ve been awful to you since… since even before winter. Before I got sick. I didn’t even apologize properly for that, either, you beat me to it and I know I should have been the one to say I was sorry first.”

The troll before him seemed slightly indignant, like he might argue, but clearly Snufkin’s sudden fierceness held him back. He merely watched, listening. Snufkin squirmed at the attention but forced himself to go on.

“Listen to me… I am sorry. Truly, I am. There was no reason for me to behave the way I did before, when you asked if you could come along with me. And… it was underhanded of me, to try to make it all your fault. I didn’t mean to do it, only… It’s just that I was… too afraid. To admit that I’d been missing you, too.”

Moomin’s eyes glittered, though they were not facing the fire. Caught in his gaze, Snufkin continued, and the words fell more freely. It was as if that ocean in his heart was reaching high tide, pouring from him.

“And I did miss you! I know now why you stayed home so much, and I understand you wanted to be close to your mother and your family. At the time, though, I only felt displaced, and… perhaps a bit unwanted. Unneeded? Oh, I don’t very well know for sure, Moomin. I didn’t realize much of anything at the time, but things had felt so strange in the spring, and it wasn’t until summertime that anything felt any sort of normal again.”

“Yeah,” Moomin pipped in, quietly, but with true emotion. “That was when… for a little bit, it all felt like… home, again.”

“Yes,” Snufkin said, and he thought of that night on the beach, with Moomin standing so close to him, looking at him. Only him, as waves murmured against the shore.

“And then I wasted so much time being bitter in the fall,” Snufkin continued. “I lost my temper at you over nothing.”

“It… wasn’t nothing,” Moomin protested, a little weakly. Then, with more strength, he said, “I  _do_  understand, Snufkin. And honestly- I know I asked you, but I knew you’d never say yes… and I feel like… Well, the only reason I asked you was that, I just felt like I had to. I had to do something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just felt… oh!” Moomin made his paws into fists and shook them helplessly in the air. “Like I had to do something! It was some sort of compulsion. I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t know what I truly wanted to do, but asking you to take me away with you was as close as I could get at the time.”

Snufkin’s ears twitched, and his eyes flashed. “Wait. What… What about now, Moomin?”

“I… I think I want to leave, Snufkin. I feel like… I just can’t. Can’t stay here, anymore. I don’t know.” There were tears, again. Even in darkness, Snufkin could still see how they caught the light, how they made dark tracks in Moomin’s fur. “It’s all different. I can’t stand it. I hate how much I want to leave it, but I c-can’t keep… keep… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, please don’t cry. You’ve no reason to apologize.” Snufkin hesitated for just a moment, then got to his knees and pulled Moomin into as proper a hug as he could manage while they were on the floor. Moomin wasted no time in returning the favor, though his grip was cautious and light. Snufkin made a point of squeezing his friend, holding him firmly against his body. Moomin let himself relax, and to Snufkin’s surprise, his grip was just as much of a comfort. “It’s okay,” he whispered just beside Moomin’s ear. “I understand.”

That night, they lay together in front of the fire. Under the blankets, Snufkin was reminded of that night after their fight, when Moomin had stayed in his tent. Before, he’d had a sense that there was more behind Moomin’s seemingly senseless request to accompany him on his travels. Snufkin had turned away then, unwilling to ask, to invite Moomin to open up; he’d been too afraid of what would be found in the truth.

He’d been afraid of what that truth might have said to him. What it would have asked of him.

Snufkin reached a paw out and touched Moomin’s arm. The troll rolled over, and his eyes were so very blue.

Was he afraid now?

“Snufkin?”

“Thank you.”

Moomin sat up on his elbow a bit. His looming form took Snufkin’s breath away, and he felt all at once so very small in the face of his friend’s full attention. “What for?” Moomin asked, following Snufkin’s lead; they were quiet as snowflakes falling against glass.

“For… everything,” Snufkin breathed. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. He could feel it in his heart, the fear. Maybe it would always be a part of him - maybe it would never go away. But he was so tired, he had been so tired for ages, and Snufkin decided he was done with fighting. Snorkmaiden had once called him empty-headed, and Snufkin didn’t quite doubt her, especially considering his behavior up to this point. But he was not a fool.

Snufkin opened his eyes, and he let the want fill him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who skipped the outdoor scene, here's the general idea: Snufkin went outside because he was upset and sat on the roof for a bit. After thinking about some things, he hears Moomin looking for him and calls out. Moomin brings him back inside and the two have an argument over his reckless behavior. Snufkin stays downstairs by the fire to warm back up, but Moomin leaves to sleep in his room. 
> 
> This was a fun chapter to write! I've been aching to get to their final argument since I started this fic, it's what I see as being the turning point of the story. I hope I was able to accomplish what I wanted with it, and convey as much as I needed to.
> 
> As always, your comments are dearly appreciated. I'm not sure how long it'll take to get the next chapter finished, because it'll be going some very different places from the rest of the fic so far, but it should be as long if not longer than this one, and have a lot to chew on. Only two chapters left, if all goes according to plan! Thank you all very much for reading~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I'm so glad I can finally update... I'm so sorry it took so long since the last chapter! But I started classes again, and between those, a part-time job, and freelance work, I've been dreadfully busy. This chapter was also tricky, because I had to wrap up and establish a lot of things, and it's very much so a sort of transitional period for Snufkin. He's trying to come to terms with a lot of new feelings, and he's still figuring some stuff out. 
> 
> Thank you all very much for reading and all your awesome comments on the last chapter! The reception was more than I could have ever dreamed of! I hope to hear from you all again. I really appreciate it <3

**Part 2: Tracks in Snow Will Lead You Home**

* * *

  

_Chapter 6_

The next few days are quiet, but a good kind of quiet. Not so much the oppressive stillness Snufkin had felt seeping in from outdoors. No, now it was more like the time he spent fishing, where all the sounds were muted and natural. There was no demand to listen, only to exist together in a space, to be aware of one another and to be content in such company. **  
**

This is how Snufkin saw the days following his argument with Moomin. They both seemed drained from the confrontation, more than pleased to leave the situation as settled for a time and continue on with their established routine. Only now, Snufkin could feel that things were not as heavy as they had been. He felt almost feather-light, in fact, as if something had been taken from him, but he didn’t miss it much. It wasn’t weighing him down any longer, and the space it left behind was… open. The sensation was difficult to describe, and at times a bit frightening. But the mumrik was more interested with the sudden return of his appetite, and much too pleased at Moomin’s excitement over the fact to dwell on any worrisome topics. 

In fact, Snufkin’s overall condition seemed to have taken a shift. It didn’t happen all at once - the lad still had a lot of trouble getting any rest, though the nightmares he’d been plagued with returned to being very vague, and they didn’t linger so long after he woke up. He’d become so frail the last few weeks, what with all the weight he lost, and how little exercise he’d been able to get. But his desire for food had spiked, and so had his mood. 

Snufkin quickly realized part of the reason he didn’t feel quite so melancholic was due to his newfound bravery when it came to Moomin. Before this whole ordeal, he might not have ever described himself as being very cowardly. Sure, there were things he had a healthy fear of, but who didn’t fear one thing or another? When things needed attention, Snufkin wasn’t one to shy away, if there was nothing else to be done about it. Now though, he could see all the ways he’d been keeping his distance from Moomin. And now that Snufkin felt compelled to close that distance, he recognized the fear which had, up to this point, caused him to hesitate.

So Snufkin tried to be brave. He let Moomin coddle him; the troll was so encouraged by Snufkin's first sign of improvement that he'd started making more elaborate dinners. They were enjoyable now that Snufkin could actually keep them down. He didn't let himself shy away from Moomin when his friend sat close or took his temperature. At night, they continued to sleep close, and sleeping on the floor rather than the couch seemed to ease Snufkin’s restlessness a bit.

Most interestingly, Moomin also behaved differently after their argument, in ways not dissimilar to Snufkin. He smiled more, hummed to himself when he did chores, and suffered fewer silences. At first Snufkin thought it might only be due to his condition improving, but then it occurred to him that, perhaps, Moomin felt a similar sense of relief following their talk. Had telling Snufkin about his mother's fall and his feelings on the matter relieved some of the pain? The mumrik dearly hoped so. It had been difficult, seeing his best friend break down in such a way. Snufkin couldn't remember Moomin crying so badly, not in all their years together. If it took a few moments of vulnerability to help Moomin… Snufkin realised he was more than willing to sacrifice some of his own comfort.

And that got him thinking.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

One evening, as Moomin is rekindling the fire and Snufkin is shuffling about, gathering blankets and pillows for their pallet on the floor, Snufkin finally brings himself to ask, “Moomin?”

“Yes?”

“Did you really mean what you said the other day? About wanting to leave the valley?”

For a moment the troll didn’t answer. He carefully finished his task with the fire, and the warmth of it was all that was keeping Snufkin from fretting. He wasn’t sure if their argument was something to bring back up. However, he reluctantly acknowledged that things hadn’t been resolved in full yet. As usual, Snufkin’s curiosity pushed him into action. 

Moomin turned away from the fire and came to sat down in the pile of blankets. Snufkin sat beside him, and for a moment they simply enjoyed the light and heat of the fire. Snufkin thought of Moomin’s parents, sleeping soundly upstairs, likely much warmer now that the chore had been done. It occurred to him suddenly that they wouldn’t be sleeping for too much longer. How long had it been since winter started? It must have been just over two months by now. Which meant spring would be coming in a few weeks. 

Snufkin was distracted from his new line of thought by Moomin’s arm pressing against his own. He looked over at the troll. Moomin was still looking at the fire, shoulders just a little hunched, but he’d leaned over to touch Snufkin and get his attention. When he eased away, Snufkin let himself follow Moomin, as if the touch had magantised them and how he couldn’t stray too far. Moomin’s arm and shoulder were soft and firm against his own. They felt real. Snufkin let the certainty of Moomin’s presence ease his underlying nerves. 

“I think I meant it,” Moomin said eventually. 

“Really?”

“Yeah… I’ve, uhm, been thinking about it more, since then. Sometimes I think ‘there’s no way I could ever leave!’ and I really mean that. But other times, I remember how I felt when we- when we fought. Or all the other times when I was so upset and all I could think about was that stuff, like how I felt wrong here and it really hurt to see everyone else being… normal, and okay. When I wasn’t.”

“Oh, you’re still normal, dove. I’ve met people who have behaved the same way before. It’s not so uncommon.”

“Maybe not out there, out in the world,” Moomin grumbled, sounding shy. There was a faint blush on his cheeks, and Snufkin knew it was most likely due to the pet name he’d used. He couldn’t rightly help it, at this point. Ever since their argument, when he’d first used the name without thinking, it had been impossible to keep it from slipping now and then. And, honestly, Snufkin hadn’t wanted to stop. He felt very giddy, using it, and it helped express his newfound desire to show affection for the troll. At first Moomin kept getting caught off guard, stammering or twitching his tail like he had no idea how to react. He seemed more used to it now. 

Snufkin looked away, to help Moomin get over his blush. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to encourage the troll to pick up where he left off.

“I only mean, maybe it’s not a strange way to behave, but you’ve met a lot of people Snufkin. I don’t know many, and no one in Moominvalley has the sort of problem I do.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

Moomin huffed. “Sure I do! I’ve lived here all my life, Snufkin. I’m the only one. And it makes me feel very strange, and I hate feeling like this here.”

“So you think that leaving will make you feel better?”

“I don’t know. I just… I just don’t think I can be  _here_ ,” Moomin said, sounding helpless and strained. Snufkin turned more toward him. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s very hard to explain, Snufkin. I’m sorry if I’m not making any sense.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” assured the mumrik. “I think I do understand the feeling.”

“Really?”

Snufkin thought for a moment, debating on what he wanted to say. This whole thing started because Moomin felt like Snufkin didn’t want to be in the valley - didn’t want to be here with him, or their friends - more than he wanted to be on his own. That wasn’t wholly wrong, but it wasn’t quite right either. Snufkin didn’t want to upset Moomin again, but felt expressing his own feelings might help Moomin understand his new, strange ones.

“It’s a little like how I feel,” Snufkin began. “Of course, I wasn’t born here, or brought up here, like you were. I’ve spent most of my life traveling all over, never feeling like I have to stay anywhere. I never wanted to, either. But you know, I’ve never wanted to come back to a place as much as Moominvalley. And even if I still go every winter, well, I still come back, too, don’t I?”

“Yes…”

“And that’s because…” Snufkin hesitated, rubbing his paws together. His tail gently tapped against the blankets. “Maybe I feel the most myself when I’m alone, and that’s why it’s very important to me to go out on my own. It’s easy to… feel lost here, around so many people, sometimes. But it’s here, in the valley, that I feel most... at home.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I think so. I never had a home before, you know.”

Moomin nodded, though Snufkin could tell he didn’t quite understand. The mumrik just smiled. “And you’re feeling like home isn’t home anymore, right?”

“I think so. It just feels… I don’t know! It hurts so much to be here, sometimes.”

“That’s how I feel, too!”

“But how is that the same?”

“I don’t think it’s the exact same thing,” Snufkin said, “but similar. And what I’m trying to say is, maybe the remedy for the feeling is the same, even if the feelings aren’t.”

“So… Oh! So you think it’s a good idea, that I want to go?”

“I think it would help,” Snufkin said. “For me, leaving during the winter months means a time for me to find myself again. I get lost in the valley, but not a bad kind of lost. It’s like I’ve forgotten something important, something I have to do, but I’m having so much fun, I don’t want to think about it. Like a boring chore or going to a gathering where I have to be polite, or something like that. But then winter comes, and I know I can’t continue enjoying myself unless I acknowledge what I’ve been forgetting. And I feel all the better for taking the time away to face it.”

Moomin mulled on that for a moment while Snufkin closed his eyes, listening to his breaths and the crackling fire. It was strange to be talking about this. Snufkin’s movements in and out of the valley had always felt extremely natural. Even if he came back to Moominvalley every year, it still felt like a given that he would always leave. Trying to put it all into words was new for him, and Snufkin was surprised at his own summation of the idea. 

He didn’t quite like what he’d said already; he hadn’t meant to compare leaving in the winter to something like an obligation. It wasn’t that. Snufkin  _wanted_  to go, didn’t view his departure as a duty or chore. It was simply… a fact of life. An unbreakable truth - though, perhaps one he’d never been inclined to question. Technically, yes, Snufkin could stay in Moominvalley forever, if he chose. However, he knew in his heart that couldn’t be the case, or else true happiness would be impossible. Just as he had known for quite some time that the idea of never coming back would lead to the same fate. 

It had been strange, in the beginning, to develop an anxious attitude toward Moominvalley. He hadn’t liked feeling the weight of Moomin’s yearning on his shoulders. In those early years, when Moomin’s interest in Snufkin was a bit more fervent, it had unsettled the mumrik. He wasn’t used to someone wanting him around so much, so earnestly, or being so honestly despondent when he departed. Sometimes, on nights when his stress led him to feel spiteful, Snufkin had half-heartedly considered not returning to Moominvalley. Yet the idea of staying away forever or even briefly made Snufkin quite sad. He’d even had nightmares about returning to the valley, eager to see all his friends, only to find he had been forgotten. 

Snufkin shook his head, dispelling the dark thoughts. He understood now that could never truly happen. After coming back to his friends for years and years, there was a bond tying him to Moominvalley and its residents, one that could never be broken even if he wandered off for twice as long. He decided to take comfort in the truth of that, rather than run in mental circles over technicalities. 

Turning his attention back to his friend, Snufkin thinks for a moment before speaking. “Just know this, Moomin - I really didn’t mean what I said back then, and I’m very sorry I said it. I can’t help the times I might feel a little restless, but none of it was your fault. Those dreams I’d been having had made me very paranoid as well. Still, it was unkind, and I shouldn’t have said it.

“I can’t help my nature,” Snufkin said, his voice quiet and a little shy. “But it seems like I’ve been hurting you a lot lately, my dove. I hope you can forgive me.”

To his surprise, the arm he’d been leaning on shifts away. Snufkin’s heart beats once, so hard it hurts, but in the next moment Moomin is pulling him closer. Hugging him. “Ah!” 

“I’ll always forgive you,” Moomin says simply, earnestly. Snufkin fidgets a bit in his grasp but doesn’t tense or pull away. Eventually, his small paws wrap around the troll in turn. Even in his quest to be more comfortable with physical contact, there hasn’t been any hugging between them. The mumrik finds himself surprised with Moomin’s forwardness, but also with the fact that he doesn’t at all mind. 

Moomin’s words earn a faint, shakey chuckle from Snufkin. “Are you sure? Even if I don’t deserve it?”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Snufkin wishes he could see Moomin’s face. Then the troll speaks, and Snufkin can feel the gentle timber of his voice against his body. “I would give you anything, if only you’d ask. If it was something I  _could_ give.”

Snufkin shivers. He’s afraid of something, and he isn’t sure what, but he thinks maybe that’s fair. Moomin doesn’t deserve to be the only one who feels afraid or sad. If Snufkin can do nothing else for him, he can carry part of this… whatever it is, between them. 

Moomin pulls away first, and Snufkin is unsure of how he feels. He’s glad to part before he became overwhelmed, but still… it had been nice. Part of him wishes Moomin hadn’t ended the hug. 

“I’m very tired,” Moomin tells him, and Snufkin can see that it’s true. “Can we sleep?”

“Of course. Goodnight, Moomin.”

As the two of them shuffle about, getting ready, Moomin settles close to Snufkin. There’s still plenty of room for the mumrik to move if he wants to put more distance between them. Snufkin doesn’t move. He closes his eyes, and thinks, thinks, thinks, until he’s too tired to think anymore.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

The snow begins to melt. 

Very, very slowly, of course. But as the days go by, Snufkin gets to peek out the window and see the world begin to change. He’s never liked winter, but this means he’s always avoided it, and so he’s never actually witnessed the slow coming of spring. 

When they finally start seeing the dark branches of barren trees, Moomin suggests popping outside. “Just for a few minutes!” he says, offering Snufkin a heavy coat. “I could use some fresh air; couldn’t you?”

Snufkin didn't argue. It was still terribly cold outside, but the first deep breath he took when they were out on the porch made him feel more alive than he had in ages. The sharp air filled his lungs entirely. Each breath felt like he was clearing out the dust and cobwebs in his head.

Like this, winter seemed almost beautiful. He liked the contrast of the trees and snow, giants sleeping under a blanket of white. Soon the ice encasing them would melt, and slowly, they would dress themselves again in full regalia. Enough snow had melted to reveal things on the ground; a log here, a rock there. Every morning there was something new trying to break into spring. Snufkin felt similarly.

He enjoyed this, sitting with Moomin on the veranda. They drank tea and ate small sweets, chatting endlessly about springtime. Snufkin detailed the way he would have returned to the valley that year, describing the familiar path with a faint smile. Moomin sat and listened, looking thoughtful.

After a few more days, it was warm enough for them to go on short walks. Snufkin donned his boots, accepted a coat from Moomin, and soon the two were weaving their way in and out if the treeline. Moomin had shoes on as well; the soles crunched delightfully on snow and ice as they made their way along.

They made up songs every afternoon. Cheeks and noses glowing pink, they sang about the cold air, the low slow riverbed, the few remaining animals making a life in the snow. Moomin played harmonica while Snufkin made up short, silly ditties that drove the troll to helpless giggles. They shared one path, footsteps melting into one another, always hidden by that night's snow. 

Once, they went out after a fresh sheet had fallen over everything. Snufkin had been tempted to sulk, but Moomin prodded him off the couch and into a pair of mittens. They were a little big for his paws, but Moomin wrapped ties on the wrists, and Snufkin thought they would hold up nicely.

They spent the next week playing in new ways Snufkin had never experienced. He helped Moomin make snow-trolls, big lumpy white structures meant to be Moominmamma, Moominpappa, and Snorkmaiden. Snufkin managed a small My sculpture, using thin twigs Moomin snapped off a nearby bush for her hair. Moomin borrowed an old hat and apron for his snow parents, and they spent the afternoon doing awful impressions.

During the week, they made snow angels, an igloo, and had a snowball fight. Snufkin often ran short on breath, but he was having too much fun to feel down about it. His body, so weak from inactivity, was feeling the burn. After an afternoon outside, he would feel so exhausted he slept dreamlessly, and so hungry he finished every meal Moomin prepared. 

Snufkin felt kinship with the grass, just barely beginning to peek out from amidst the endless white. He felt it with the dark trees, stretching, biding their time and energy. He could himself in the changing sky, gradually regaining its full color.

Winter was on its way out.

 

❅

_"Little white clouds, falling down_

_into the valley,_

_I catch and hold and shape them_

_into friends and family._

_Little roots waiting,_

_pushing at the sky,_

_send these fluffy white things back!_

_I wish to say goodbye!"_

The smooth harmonic sounds of Moomin's playing faltered as he laughed. Snufkin laughed too, pausing in his hop-skip dance as he waited for his friend to catch up. 

They'd wandered far today, Moomin House gone from their sight. Moomin had wanted to show Snufkin more of the valley in winter, and the weather was warm enough for a longer walk. Snufkin was already panting a little, but it was more from singing and dancing than the wandering. Besides, it kept him warm, and he liked the low simmer he felt in his lungs, shins, and shoulders. 

"Oh, Snufkin!" Moomin cried, his voice bright with amusement. "Try a springtime song!"

"You want me to make a spring song? Out here?"

His friend giggled. "Yes, yes, try to come up with one! A spring sing made in winter…"

"However will I manage that?" Snufkin wondered aloud, sounding theatrically incredulous. "There's nothing very spring-y that I can see." 

"Do it! You can do it, I'm sure!"

Snufkin smiled, hopping from his perch on a rock. He held out a paw, and Moomin instantly passed the harmonica back. Today, Snufkin had foregone gloves (against Moomin's wishes, but he just wasn't fond of them) and the metal of the instrument was cold. It would have felt much colder, Snufkin thought, if Moomin hadn't been keeping it so close.

With that, Snufkin put the comb against his lips and began playing.

First, he had to find the shape of it, feeling out got sounds that suited him. Snufkin played as they continued their walk, keeping a slow pace, for he needed his breath. Moomin hummed along when Snufkin got caught on a tune. "I like that."

"It's good," Snufkin said, "but not quite what I need."

"How is it you know what exactly you need?"

"I don't know exactly. I have a feeling of it, though. When I play all sorts of notes, I can try to find it."

"Ah! Keep going then?"

Snufkin played, on and on, until he stumbled across a sound he liked. It brushed up against something inside of him. Playing the tune of it made his mouth quirk up in a smile. 

Moomin, too, seemed to catch the feeling. At times, his humming deviated from the path Snufkin was beginning to wear - not against it, but alongside, a harmony. Snufkin closed his eyes a moment, feeling the song, playing over and over until it was set in the corners of his mouth, the taste at his teeth. On the fourth round of the developing chorus, he heard Moomin begin to sing:

_"Back, back, you're coming back_

_and patience is less_

_than water in the river_

_come along, dear thing, sweetness_

_I'm calling you_

_can you hear me?"_

They both paused. Wordlessly, Snufkin offered Moomin the harmonica. The troll accepted and began to try replicating the sound. It took a few minutes, but he got the hang of it quickly. He had been listening. Of course.

Snufkin sang along.

_"My heart is the blackbird,_

_coming back, coming back,_

_forever yours."_

❆

 

As the season began to thaw, Moomin slept. With Snufkin's condition taking a turn for the better, it seemed like a weight had been lifted from the troll. He appeared much more at ease, which made Snufkin feel both sad and happy. He couldn't help the sense of guilt poking at him; he had caused his friend so much distress.

In an attempt to make it up, Snufkin made a show of helping more. He would cook and clean with Moomin, and join him for those long naps, even if he'd had enough sleep to last him a lifetime already. Some days were perfect for running about outside, but Snufkin chose to stay in and prepare broth for dinner, or clean the sitting room so Moomin could feel comfortable.

"You don't have to do all this," Moomin said after one day-long nap, his voice drowsy. "I'm the one… who's supposed to take care of you."

"I say we take care of each other," Snufkin replied. "That seems fair, doesn't it?"

"Well of course… I just-"

"I like taking care of you,” Snufkin said, and was surprised to find he meant it very much, and he didn't regret saying it. Seeing the look in Moomin's eyes made regret impossible.

 

❅

"Do you really think they won't mind?"

They were having a warm dinner when Moomin asked, sitting right across from Snufkin. The mumrik perked up a bit, chewing on his bread. 

"My parents," Moomin explained.

"Ah! I hadn't thought of that much. I don't believe they will."

"Really?" 

"Your father had his adventures; he wasn't much older than you."

"I don't know, that seems different to me."

"How so?"

"Pappa didn't grow up in a place like Moominvalley," the troll said, his voice thoughtful. Snufkin left him to it, finishing his fish stew. 

Moomin sighed, pushing the scraps of his meal around in the bowl with a fork. "I just don't want them to think… I'm not sure! I'm just worried over nothing, I guess."

"Did you plan on telling them the reason you want to go?"

"I wanted to," Moomin said, very quiet. 

Snufkin reached a paw over to pat Moomin's shoulder. "They won't think badly of you."

"I suppose."

"You don't resent me for leaving every year, do you?"

"Of course not!"

"See? And that's because you understand that being on my own those months is just my way of things. I need it to be happy. Just let your parents know this is something you need, and they'll understand."

"But what if I don't really need it? Maybe I'm overreacting?"

Snufkin offered him a frown. "If they're your true feelings, Moomin, you shouldn't discredit them."

Moomin seemed to hear him on that, turning to his food to finish eating in contemplative silence. 

Meanwhile, Snufkin stared out the small kitchen window, feeling his own words echo back at him accusingly.

❆

 

In the garden, there was grass. At the front door, sounds of water flowing in the riverbed could be heard. The clouds returned, as did the birds, their dark feathers bold against the dying snow.

Every time Snufkin went outside, there was something new to find. A patch of grass here, the first evidence of a flower there. Animals were climbing out of hibernation to stretch in the new, warmer sunlight. As snow melted off the trees, tiny leaf buds appeared. Snufkin watched as slowly, day by day, green came back to Moominvalley.

He helped Moomin prepare. They first gathered more wood, as their current supply was getting low, and it would take a while for what they found to dry. Then they began to clear snow from the property using shovels. Sometimes new snow fell, but it was increasingly rare to see, and eventually the lawn was back to its original brilliance. It was hard work, but Snufkin was growing stronger, and worked through the burn in his arms with a grin.

While they worked, Snufkin made a point to discuss his many travels, this time focusing on all the many things he had never bothered to mention before. Moomin listened when Snufkin described the different wild things you could or couldn't eat; what to do when your shoes started to fall apart; how to set up and pack up a campsite quickly; how to tell when storms would come, depending on the time of day and the region.

Moomin listened - even better, he asked questions. Some of them a given, but many were about small things Snufkin never would have thought to elaborate on. For hours every day, they worked and talked, toiling away in preparation for what would come alongside spring.

One by one, winking into sight like stars, little yellow flowers dotted the fields. 

 

❅

Moomin was sipping tea and watching Snufkin cook when they both caught the telltale creaking of floorboards from upstairs.

Moomin was up in an instant, racing around the corner and up the stairs. Snufkin listened to the troll's progress as he began making extra pancakes. Above, a deep voice spoke - Moominpappa first, then. His son replied from their doorway, no doubt. After a few moments of muttering and shuffling, a third voice entered the mix, so soft Snufkin could barely hear her.

He pulled a jar of grape jam from the icebox - Moominmamma's favorite - and called out a happy greeting when all three of the moomins made their way downstairs.

❆❅❆❅❆❅

Standing beneath a tree, Snufkin watched and waited for Moomin.

Three days ago, Moomin's parents had officially come out of hibernation. On that day, while Snufkin served pancakes, the family of trolls engaged in a very serious discussion. Part of Snufkin had been a little nervous, but even more of him had felt perfectly calm. As he listened to Moomin explain to his parents that he wanted to leave the valley, Snufkin knew in his heart that things would be alright.

Pappa had been the most understanding, yet surprisingly the most reluctant as well. It took a bit of gentle encouragement from Mamma to ease him into the idea of such a prolonged trip. Mostly, the two seemed curious at Moomin's sudden insistence, as well as Snufkin's endorsement of the idea. In the end, though, they reached an agreement and Moomin hugged his parents, looking for all the world as if they'd finally given him permission to fly free from a cage.

The few days following were dreadfully hectic. All their friends had arrived by lunchtime, and Moomin had broken the news to them at the table. Sniff delivered a spiel of worry and doubt before realizing Moomin was much more likely to bring him a nifty souvenir than Snufkin, who he'd repeatedly claimed 'had no sense of worth or taste' in the past. After that, he was more than happy to wish Moomin safe travels. Little My didn't sound at all surprised, nor did she tease, which made Snufkin wonder if Moomin's troubled behavior had been more obvious than he'd thought. Snorkmaiden got a little upset, clearly concerned for Moomin and worried over what might happen, but she ultimately made no objections. Pressing her nose to Moomin's, she wished them both a world of luck and fun on their journeys. 

The entirety of the following day was spent preparing the two boys. Snufkin still wasn't quite at his best, but he felt so much better it hardly mattered. He gleefully reclaimed his backpack and got to organizing it and Moomin's, helping the troll decide what he should take. While Moominpappa dug out some old tools and maps he'd used on his own travels, Moominmamma and Snorkmaiden looked around in storage to compile a suitable traveling outfit for Moomin.

In the end they managed to find a beautiful coat made of deerskin leather. It was soft, and dyed a handsome shade of brick red. Moominmamma explained it had been purchased at a market some years ago, before Moomin was born. "I would have worn it if your father and I wanted to go on another adventure. Isn't it lovely? It's soft, but durable, and you should find it gets more comfortable the more you wear it, dear."

Along with the jacket came two study brown boots, a pair of yellow gloves, and one extra pair of each. Pappa also insisted on a pale yellow undershirt. Moomin wasn't used to wearing so much, but Snufkin had explained he would encounter all sorts of weather, and his body hadn't yet built any resistance to traveling so far or working so often with his hands. 

"You don't wear gloves," Moomin had protested weakly the night before their departure. They had sat together on the veranda. At their backs, they could hear music from the old gramophone seeping through closed windows. The others were dancing together and talking, yet here was Moomin, outside in the dark with only a candle between them for warmth and light. Snufkin sat back in his chair and smiled.

"My paws aren't nearly as soft as yours, dear Moomin," he answered, teasing a little. The troll huffed. "And remember, I grew up as a wild little thing. I've had only my hands and claws and teeth to work with for a much longer time." 

Moomin doesn’t speak, merely nods, and the two of them sit in companionable silence until Mamma and Pappa call them inside. 

Now Snufkin stands, watching as Moomin delivers one last wave to the small crowd gathered on the stoop of his home. Moomin’s parents and all their friends have gathered; they all cry out their goodbyes enthusiastically. Snufkin’s sharp gaze catches tears in Moominmamma’s eyes, but she’s smiling as she waves a handkerchief, and Moominpappa has a firm grip on her shoulders. They’ll all be fine, Snufkin thinks, and lifts a paw to deliver his final farewell.

When Moomin meets him by the trees, they don’t speak, merely turn and go on their way. They walk for half an hour in quiet contemplation. The trees above are still mostly bare, but the tiny buds of newborn leaves decorate their branches like fairy lights. The air is cool and fresh with the scent of melted snow. Their boots crunch on dirty patches of the stuff, along with twigs and pebbles that had been buried all season. Little creatures are just beginning to scamper about once more, sniffing for the stores of food they tucked away. 

Eventually, Snufkin finds himself back where he started a year ago. Moomin pauses when he does, and when Snufkin turns around to look at his friend, he realizes his heart is in his throat. For a moment the two can only stare at one another. 

Finally, Moomin says, “I’m going to miss you, Snufkin.”

The mumrik takes a deep breath, then sighs with a smile. He nods just slightly. “A year is a long time. It will be the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other since we met.” After a pause, he adds, “Will you be very lonely, away from everyone in the valley for so long?”

“Oh, I’m sure I will! But I can always write; I’ll try my best to keep in touch, even if they can’t really write me back.” Moomin says, trying to sound cheerful, but Snufkin knows him very well. The undercurrent of nervousness is clear to him, and so he doesn’t smother the impulse to reach out a paw and catch Moomin’s fingertips. The troll easily slides his covered palm to rest properly in Snufkin’s. The gloves are a good material, and Snufkin knows they’ll serve his friend very well. 

“It will be a fantastic adventure,” Snufkin assures him. “Loads of fun. I can’t wait to hear about everything you’re going to see, Moomin.”

“You too!” Moomin says, his eyes sparkling a bit. He takes a half-step closer, still holding Snufkin’s hand in his. “Tell me again where you’re off to?”

“West,” Snufkin answers, and can’t help his grin. He’s honestly very, very excited - he’s always wanted to go further west, but three months only lets him go so far if he wants to be back by early spring. A trip to the mountains will take two months at least, and that’s not accounting for all the exploring he’s got in mind. It will be an area he’s never been before, and for the first time in years, there will be no sense of having to rush. “And you settled on southeast, right?”

“Yes, the villages and forests you described sound very interesting! I want to meet all sorts of new people.”

“You won’t be hurting for new friends,” Snufkin agreed. “Southerners tend to be friendly, I’ve found. Well, so long as you don’t nick anything from their carts in the markets.”

“Snufkin!”

“Only once or twice!” the mumrik laughed, unconsciously squeezing Moomin’s hand. “And only from a vendor with a foul mouth. They didn’t need the extra peach anyway.”

Moomin gave him a look, then closed his eyes with an easy smile. Above them, a flock of migratory geese cut their way through a clear sky. From the east, a breeze rolled down the Lonely Mountains and swept across the outskirts of Moominvalley, toying with the brim of Snufkin’s hat, the hem of his cloak. It took Snufkin’s breath along with it, spiriting it away to some far-off place. 

When Moomin opened blue his eyes, his gaze was so very gentle. Snufkin felt dizziness in his heart and head, and felt all at once too full of something yet distressingly hollow. What was it he had to do? What did he need to give, to escape the weight of this feeling? Some part of him deep down knew what he should do, but it’s still too difficult, too impossible...

He’s saved from having to act when Moomin acts first. The troll takes another step, putting himself fully in Snufkin’s personal space. Like on the beach, they’re nearly pressed together. Snufkin feels warmth flood his body as he holds Moomin’s hand and stares into his eyes. 

Slowly, so slowly, Moomin tilts his head until his snout presses against Snufkin’s nose, his cheek. Nuzzling. And then Moomin whispers in his ear, “Snufkin… Will you make a song, just for me? Please?”

His heart nearly stops. His head is completely empty. On impulse, Snufkin can only bring a paw to Moomin’s cheek, feeling his soft fur, and tilt his head to gently nuzzle his friend back. His eyes are closed and the want is overwhelming. He can feel himself shaking, struggling, yearning.

“Oh, yes, my dove. Of course. Anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we go! Only one chapter left! I have no idea how long the final part will be, but it will be following Snufkin on his year-long adventure away from the valley and Moomin. Time for a bit of soul searching...
> 
> I'll do my best to get back to you guys soon~ I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and that you're all doing well.


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